In Between Reality
by sawiuk
Summary: A lonely university student is pulled out of his world and finds himself in the story he'd always dreamt of being in. Stuck in a 9 year old Dudley's body his existence changes everything and he finds that dreams can become nightmares. AU OC-pov
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

Thank to my Beta reader Storyseeker , big thanks also to Cursed21 for amazing generosity.

A lonely university student is pulled out of his world and finds himself in the story he'd always dreamt of being in. Stuck in 9-year-old Dudley's body, his existence changes everything and he finds that dreams can become nightmares. AU OC-POV.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

8

It was by all rights fair to say, in regards to Nicholas Larkin, that he was a little obsessed with Harry Potter. Not 'posters on the walls' obsessed, since having posters that weren't semi-naked girls, while growing up in a care-home, was a sure fire way to make you a bully target. But he could recite every department in the Ministry Of Magic, and that was something that had won him more than a couple of pub quizzes down the local King's Arms on a lonely Saturday night in college.

All this was fine, and as far as he was concerned, 'hobbies keep you sane in an insanely boring world'. Nicholas's father told him that little nugget of information before he was put into care.

His Father himself had been _slightly_ too obsessed with Lord Of The Rings, Dungeons And Dragons and Star Trek. Most of which often ended up with Nicholas being dragged from role-playing conventions to sci-fi conventions across and sometimes out of the country, any time one just happened to pop up, school days and birthdays be damned. It was eventually the trips that caused his dad to be ordered to release Nicholas to the state, because of one (or thirty) missed school days too many.

As you can imagine, all the riding around after fantasies left Nicholas fairly clueless when he found himself dumped into the regular society of the care home. It also frequently left Nicholas to awkwardly explain his inspirational ideas to audiences of narrow minded people who believed getting a lot of money for as little as much work as possible. It seemed to be the principal of their human existence, as well as believing that it was somehow the 'immigrants' fault for everything.

This often ended, as these things usually do, in near constant outbursts of frustration and bitterness directed at those people who refused to try and understand 'think of the possibilities' and 'what if' attitudes towards life.

During high school, he became known for his ruthlessly loner work ethic, refusing to work in groups unless absolutely necessary. 'Because he could do the work much faster by himself,' a little quote that he had said at the beginning of his first year because no one had been concentrating on the assignment they were supposed to be doing. Everyone teased him about it ever since, and it became the reason he didn't want to work in groups at all.

Teachers adored him, as he was always the first one to arrive, and their appreciation only isolated him further, making him a target for bullying. That is until he had found himself ordered into the CDT room at break times, helping Mr Woodhead prepare wood-shop assignments, turning on machines and setting equipment for the A-level students.

Unfortunately, the tendency to loneliness followed him to both college and university, except for a brief winter relationship with a raven-haired woman called Miranda. She was cold, electric and married, so it didn't work out. But it was no matter, as he didn't need her or anyone's casual friendship anyway, thank you very much.

Coming up to his twenty-first birthday, Nicholas Larkin found himself almost without any connection to 'real' people, and investing dubious amounts of time into his engineering degree, reading HP fanfiction, and pretending he was someone else.

So when he suddenly disappeared, no one actually seemed to notice, and those that did didn't have the time to care, and as a raven haired woman said to her daughter, who mysteriously didn't look anything like her husband, on her death bed, 'it was all - quite sad really'.

8

Nicholas had found himself standing in front of a mirror, _not _in his bathroom, eyes wide, heart pounding, and all the while staring at the reflection of a fat child, where his skinny adult one should be. He had taken a deep breath and pinched the back of his hand.

"Ow." Okay, so he was not dreaming.

Not the 'usual response' that someone might have had when finding themselves in such a situation, although the pounding heart and stomach flipping sensation reminded him all too well what was coming. While still being able to stand up and think straight, he began listing off the probable causes of this seemingly impossible event.

"Time travel," he stated, as dreaming had been ruled out about an hour ago. However, Nicholas was still exploring the large, round and child-sized head in his hands, as if looking for an off switch.

"No, that wouldn't make me younger." He looked down at the layer of flab now surrounding his gut. "Or put me in another body."

"Shape shifting?" Nicholas looked around the yellowy-cream porcelain tiles of the bathroom with obvious dislike. "That wouldn't explain the teleporting. Perha-"

A fast triple knock rattled on the bathroom door abruptly. Nicholas jumped, causing the belly beneath him to wobble, which was a new experience for Nicholas, as his own body had resembled something thin and spidery.

"Dinky Diddydums?" came a cooing and high-ended woman's voice from behind the door. "Are you alright, Icklum? You've been in there an awfully long time, sweetie."

Nicholas's eyes shot back to the mirror at breakneck speed, his new eyes scanning the face that he saw there. "_Dinky Diddydums?" _repeated in his ears like an echo, leading him deeper into his own mind. "Dudley Dursley?" the words came out his mouth before the conclusion in his mind was made.

"Diddykins?" came the voice again, and like an internal explosion he knew the voice could only belong to Aunt Petunia…no, not _Aunt, _if he was who he thought he was…'Mother' Petunia. Something cringed inside Nicholas. It was at this point that the 'usual reaction' started to kick in

Nicholas began to hyperventilate, which only increased as the mirror in front of him began to crack at its four corners, a large X of broken glass forming across the rapidly paling reflection of Dudley Dursley.

The resulting BANG of Nicholas fainting in Dudley's body corresponded with the resonant CRASH of all the mirrors in the house suddenly breaking.

8

Soul Searching and finding yourself had always been something that Nicholas had scoffed at in _his _world, but then he always knew who he was in _his_ world, so the idea of looking seemed ridiculous. But after the 'bathroom incident,' he found himself once again in the body of Dudley Dursley.

Nicholas stared at the ceiling. He had awoken tucked loosely in the middle of a double bed in a room full of _stuff. _To Nicholas, it honestly looked like someone had thrown Toys 'R' Us in a blender and poured its rainbow contents into this room for storage. Petunia Dursley was standing over him, looking extremely worried and threatening to call the hospital. Luckily, he managed to talk her out of it, instead talking her down to: -

"A couple of days off, just in case, Diddykins." After which, she weaved through the obstacle course of discarded toys on the creamy-blue carpet like an Olympic pro. Soon after, she brought upstairs a tray with some soup, which was really good, bread, sandwiches and three cans of pop.

That was followed by a short conversation about what he wanted for his tenth birthday, which started with awkward silence and ended in a shrug from Nicholas. Petunia brought him several catalogues.

Eventually, Nicholas had to sit up. Staring at the ceiling and questioning his existence was obviously not getting him anywhere, so he decided to think about something more productive. He called Petunia and asked for a pen and paper, which gained him an odd look and another mention of a hospital trip. He was going to write a list.

For some reason, however, he couldn't control the pen in his fat stubby hand, and that was when the crying started.

At first there were no tears, and it was just a feeling at the back of his head, easily being mistaken for frustration or anger at not being able to get the pen to do what he wanted it to do, but it grew.

Thunder erupted over the house and the rain hammered down after it.

He was crying so hard that it didn't even feel like it was he doing it anymore. It was like a crack in the dam. The stone barrier inside him was crumbling and the emotional baggage of _everything_ was breaking through.

"I. Need. To. Get…" The words came out like sobs. "…Outside!"

Vernon and Petunia looked at each other, and then out the window at the dark thundering storm.

"Vernon, the car," Petunia hushed, looking haggard. "Quickly, now! So no one will see!" The fat man grabbed Nicholas and managed to carry him down the stairs. There came a cracking sound from the living room as they passed, but no one heard it over Vernon pushing his way through the front door like a bull.

The second the rain touched Nicholas, he fell out of Vernon's hands and was now somehow impossible to hold, much to the man's horror and dismay. Nicholas rolled his fat sack of a body as far away as he could.

He was kneeling in mud, arms stretched to the black sky like a sacrifice to the storm. He felt each icy droplet slice through him like a shard of frozen glass, knitting through his body like needles.

The pain touched him in places deeper than the physical confines of Dudley Dursley's body, creating an explosion of **EVERYTHING **inside. It was unbearable, incredible, wonderful, intolerable, and simply insurmountable.

This was death, the Dursleys, even if they were horrible people, had just lost their only son and they didn't even know it, and Nicholas Larkin's very existence had just been erased. Dudley had been cruel in his childhood, but he was also the only one that had truly _chosen_ redemption. Nicholas, on the other hand, had _suffered_ throughout his life, and now all that meant nothing. They were the shards that hurt the most.

The heavy rain risked drowning him, and brawling winds threatened to lift him off the ground and throw him, as lightning roared down from the sky directly above. It first hit the magical wards on the house, the main power following it down in a dome of brilliant, blinding and dazzling light.

The core of the lightning strike, however, managed to blast through the barrier, and forked as it connected to both of Dudley's hands, knocking him backwards into the ground.

The next thing Nicholas knew, he was lying two inches deep in mud, every muscle twitching. He exhaled a gust of crisp air he didn't know he was holding, while experiencing the peculiar sensation of having all the hairs on his body standing up at once.

"PETUNIA! HIT-" Vernon bellowed, his screams broken and stolen in the deafening thunder. "…LIGHTNING!"

Nicholas felt Vernon's hands around him once more, unable to resist them as he drifted off into slumber.

The next week consisted of trips and overnight stays across London's hospitals, some for the burns on his hands, and the rest looking at Dudley Dursley's brain, and the cause of his sudden change in behaviour, particularly his sudden bouts of amnesia.

The doctors eventually accredited the change to minor brain damage as a side effect of being struck by lightning. Harry Potter, and many others at his primary school, accredited it as a miracle.


	2. At The Dursleys'

Big thanks to reviewers; you guys really do make writing worthwhile. This chapter will be Nick's first year at the Dursleys and the beginning of changes.

Thank to my Beta reader Storyseeker and co-writer strawberry white tiger again a big thanks to cursed21.

**Chapter 2**

**At the Dursleys'**

The first time that he saw Harry Potter was within the first week of his stay at the hospital. At the time, he was having the burns on his hands looked at and was dosed up to the ceiling with pain-meds and antibiotics.

He knew it was Harry because he was in baggy mismatched clothes and standing as far away from the Dursleys as physically possible. A quick glance at some chaotic jet-black hair, thick round glasses, and, of course, _the scar_, confirmed that it was indeed Harry Potter. However, Harry wasn't _exactly_ as he had pictured him.

Not that Petunia, Vernon or Dudley were particularly as he had imagined them either, although he supposed that he could see the resemblance between all of them if he thought about it. Long neck, no-neck, round and thin faced, Petunia, Vernon, Dudley and Harry.

Thin faced Harry was certainly skinny, but not what anyone would call malnourished, especially if that anyone had spent a third of their life in a care home and saw people that were.

Harry didn't look as beaten down or as skittish as he'd expected either, not that he could recall J.K. ever actually writing that Harry was. He'd just always thought that abuse was implied. An aspect he seemed to have over romanticized.

He didn't speak to Harry that day because of a combination of nerves, pain medication and the Dursleys, and besides, he'd only just gotten used to talking to Petunia and Vernon as if they were his parents. That still felt somehow horrible, even if the meaning of 'Mum' and 'Dad' were long dead to him.

When the Dursleys' had outspent their visiting hours, Dudley, as he now called himself, spent the rest of his time at the hospital thinking.

His logical mind was telling him that he needed to make up some sort of plan, but when he asked _what,_ it would go silent and everything else would jump in, telling him he was mad.

_Perhaps he was_, he thought, but he shook his head, ignoring the twinge of insanity as he did whenever it surfaced. The last thing he needed was to be branded insane, even if it were true.

Sometimes he thought about running away. Sneaking out of the hospital in the dead of night, finding a place to stay, maybe even look for the Leaky Cauldron, if it existed. Then it would occur to him that he couldn't. For a start, A: he had no money, B: he had no clue where he was, and C: he was nine.

He tried making other plans, but they would either fall to pieces or snowball into disaster, and those that were slightly plausible involved heavily depending on certain dynamics being met. Specifically magic, and whether Dudley now had it.

Dudley had been a Muggle in the books, so why would he be magic now, just because he was possessed? Although, to be fair, he very deeply suspected that he did have magic. He had heard the doctors and nurses talking behind the blue-green curtains of his sick bed, that the Dursleys kept closed at all times during their visits, and it amounted to:

"No one gets hit by lightning, survives, and then comes out with only minor burns at the entry points and…without showing any exit points." Nobody seemed to be comfortable mentioning the rapid speed at which the wounds were healing either.

So the possibility of magic was strong, but that then brought up the bigger question, '_what would the Dursleys do?_' They had been hysterically firm on not allowing Harry to go to Hogwarts, going to god-knows-where just to get away from the letters. Dudley didn't like his chances.

What's more, even if by some lucky wish on a star he went to Hogwarts, what would he do? How would he do it? No, this was far too complicated, and way too much to be dealing with, and yet he felt almost…responsible. He quashed the simmering feeling.

8

By the time it finally came to going back to the Dursleys' house, Dudley's hands were almost completely healed except for two thin shapeless scars angled on the back and palms of his hands, from between his thumb and forefinger down to his wrist. They were now hidden in thick white cotton bandages.

He still had no tangible plans, except for a very basic one: - Lose weight; and get Harry out from under the stairs. It wasn't Russian welding, that was for sure, but it was sort-of a beginning. But beginning of _what,_ he didn't know.

The truth was that even deciding that course of action was difficult, because it was so very tempting to just opt-out and let everything run its predetermined route. But that felt like it would be even more difficult to maintain.

From his first steps into the house, Dudley knew he had to do things that he really didn't want to do, which was mostly being sweet to Vernon and Petunia. Luckily, the whole 'incident' with the lightning provided a lot of leeway in getting the smaller things done.

Like starting a diet and joining a sports centre. Unfortunately, the woman who ran the centre proclaimed that Dudley's body wasn't built for running, so starting next month he would only be put down for sports i.e. boxing and rugby, hurrah.

It was when he told Petunia that he wanted to get rid of all of the old toys in his room, and the spare, and that for his birthday he only wanted the money that they would have spent on the toys, that eyebrows began rising. After that, he didn't ask them to move Harry for another week, and when he did, it took an awful lot of convincing.

"But there's a whole room up there!" He pointed towards the ceiling with both hands, and he could feel his face getting hot again.

"I said no, Dudley." Vernon's face at this point was like an old wreaked tomato. This was the fourth time they'd had this argument this morning, not including the seven they'd had the night before. "I'm going to turn it into a game room." He pulled up a newspaper in front of his face, as he collapsed into the chair closest to the telly.

"But it's not fair! You can't just leave _him_ in a-" the _him _in question, or rather his hair, caught Dudley's eye. Harry was hiding in the flowerbed outside the living room window, where the new hydrangea had just been planted, but his hair could still be seen anytime the wind picked it up. "-cupboard under the bloody stairs!"

"Shhhhh both of you!" This was Petunia, looking rather fierce in a white and pink floral patterned apron. "_The Neighbours_!" she hissed, and looked around the room as if she might spot one. She didn't, but she spotted Harry.

"Get out of my flowerbeds! And get in here!" She shrieked. "Now!"

The black hair disappeared from the window, and a few seconds later appeared, attached to the rest of the boy, in the living room. Petunia looked at each of the three males, and huffed angrily at Harry. "Boy, you're moving upstairs."

A mixture of "Yes", "finally" and "but, darling-" filled the living room, as Petunia turned on her heels, undid her apron and moved into the kitchen with Vernon waddling after her.

This left Dudley and Harry alone together for the first time since he had arrived. The extent of which there was an awkward silence, which was like nothing Dudley had ever encountered in his former body.

Embarrassed, Dudley realized why the silence was so long. He moved out the way so that Harry could get to the space under the stairs.

As he did, a quiet voice mumbled something along the lines of "Thanks…Dudley."

"Err…yeah." Dudley bit his lip and scratched the back of his neck whilst looking up the stairs through the gaps in the banister, his face still feeling hot. He wasn't used to praise.

"No problem, any time." He looked down at Harry, who was about two heads smaller, as he began raking out his belongings from the cupboard.

"Umm…do you need any help?" he asked helpfully. Harry looked up from inside the cupboard with an expression of suspicion.

"Okay," Harry said very slowly, as if at any moment Dudley was going to do something awful. "Umm, here." Harry handed him the blankets from his cot, not trusting him with anything that could break.

The two of them trotted off upstairs with all of Harry's stuff. It didn't really need two people to move it into the old toy room, which had had its contents empted into six black bin-bags and left in front of the local charity shop already, and now looked like an actual room.

The two boys looked at the room. It could do with a lick of paint, a new bed mattress, maybe a new carpet and a new wardrobe, but other than that it was most certainly a room and not a cupboard.

"You can have that old TV if ya want, and you can have that old lamp, too," he said, as he kicked at a stain in the carpet. "I ain't gonna use 'em, so might as well put them to some use. I'll see if I can get my room coloured, too. You can have the extra paint then. What do ya think?"

When he turned back to Harry, he was looking at him as if he was an alien from another planet with at least six heads. Frankly, that would be pretty close.

"Are you feeling okay?" Harry asked slowly, this time with a serious frown, which actually appeared rather funny on the nine year old.

"Yeah, Harry." Dudley could feel a hint of a smile on his face. "Never better."

8

School. Primary school. How had _that_ managed to slip the knot? He hadn't even began to prepare himself up for _that_, and it was sprung on him so randomly, literally almost an hour after setting up the TV in Harry's room. It had to be a punishment.

Petunia wrapped his hands and his head up in bandages until it looked like he was wearing a turban, and he couldn't move his fingers. She marched him and Harry into school that morning, with a smile so tightly fixed into place that a single snowflake could crack it if it ever dare came near.

They arrived _purposely_ late. Harry was quickly ushered into the classroom, while he and Petunia, forcibly, hand in hand, waited outside a metal snot-green door. The teacher, Mrs Greenwood, whose name was spelt out in paper letters on the door, explained, rather loudly, to the class that Dudley had been in an accident and was coming back to school.

"Remember that storm we had three weeks ago, when you were told that Dudley Dursley was outside and struck by lightning?" There was a sound of thirty-odd children in agreement.

"Well, he hurt his head."

'Ah ha,' Dudley thought. 'This would be why I'm wearing a turban.' "So he may not be able to remember things like he used to, and he may also be acting a little bit strangely-"

"A lot strange-"

At the sound of Harry's voice, Petunia tightened her grip on Dudley's hand painfully, which almost made his eyes water.

"-He's nice now." He continued, but Mrs Greenwood pretended not to hear him.

"So I want you **all** to be very nice to him, and help him if he has any trouble. Now, who's going to volunteer to let him in?" There was silence, and then the sound of a few hands flying up in the air. "Hmmm…how about Polkiss?" There was the sound of someone getting up, and the snot-coloured door opened.

There stood a ratty looking boy with a long nose smiling at him with glee. Petunia let go of his hand, kissed him on the cheek, and with a slight push on his left shoulder, guided him into the threshold of the classroom.

The classroom was set up with eight low rectangular tables pushed together to make four squares, and each had a different coloured box on it filled with pens, pencils, rulers and paper. Each group table had roughly seven or eight kids sitting at it, all of them staring at him as he entered the room.

Polkiss smiled smugly at them as he led Dudley, like an invalid, to the table with a cracked lime-green box in its centre, surrounded by five large boys who were taking turns to kick each other under the table. This table was also the furthest away from Harry, who sat at the yellow box table with four other children, an empty space on either side of him.

"Hey, Dud?" Polkiss asked loudly, rubbing his nose on his sleeve, and then rubbing it on the back of the boy who sat next to him and who was trying, unsuccessfully, to tie his shoes. "What was being hit by lightning like?"

Dudley looked down at the ratty nine-year-old and then stared solidly at the chair next to him for about three seconds, then, at the rest of the table, and then began to wander over to Harry.

Dudley would later learn that Mrs Greenwood had allowed him to move tables because, as far she knew, he was brain damaged. And after seeing how well he behaved and worked with Harry, she decided to let him stay there.

8

Five months and two days later, Dudley celebrated his tenth birthday. The diet was well on its way and he had lost a good amount of fat, and gained a lot of muscle when the actual day arrived.

He hadn't expected to get much because all he asked for was money. However, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley bought him a sports-bike, a new pair of boxing gloves, a home-stand punching bag and rugby kit, and wrapped up in the shorts came along two-hundred quid.

Harry, much to Dudley's surprise, had left him an old large brass biscuit tin outside his room that morning. There was a piece of torn paper stuck to it with a quickly scribbled Happy Birthday on it. The tin had cats in top-hats dancing and having a picnic around a big ball of string, which probably meant that it had belonged to Mrs. Figg.

Harry had obviously tried to make a penny slot, but had ended up scratching the paint and denting the lid, which now didn't fit right. But in Dudley's eyes, it was the best gift he had ever gotten, because it gave him hope.

He had recently begun to start doubting whether he had made any bridges with Harry at all. It was hard enough pretending to be younger than he actually was, but trying to make friends with a nine year old, who thought you were the cousin that had made his life a misery for all his life, while keeping in mind that in his original life he hadn't exactly had any experience in making friends _to start with_, was a little hard for him to tell where he stood. But this _tin_ meant something. It meant he was getting somewhere with Harry. He was so happy he could cry.

He didn't.

Dudley promptly stuffed the two hundred pounds, along with the forty-five quid allowance Vernon had been giving him every month, plus a ten-pound note gained from doing odd jobs for the neighbours, into the biscuit tin. That last bit he usually spent on the odd sweet for Harry whenever they had to walk home, but that had become rare since the Dursleys found out. They now had to wait an extra hour at the school gate for Vernon to come and pick them up by car.

The day would have begun perfectly if it wasn't also the first time that Dudley met _Aunt Marge_. He had never met someone so infuriating in all his lives, and he'd had to deal with social services.

She gave him a big kiss on his cheek, and pulled off the wrapping on his hands, which Petunia made him wear against his will 'to hide those disgusting scars,' as her bulldog molested a couch cushion and growled at anyone who looked.

"Struck by lightning, eh?" Marge said, peering at the darkened and scarred skin. She then dropped her hand on his shoulder, which almost caused him to crumble, as she bellowed, "It'd take a lot more than lightning to put a Dursley down!"

Vernon laughed politely, as Petunia huddled closely to him, trying to hide her horror at what the dog was now doing to the pillow. Harry snorted, and then made a run for the stairs as Marge took a swing at his legs over Dudley's shoulder with her stick.

She caught the bottom of Harry's shirt, tripping him forward. When Harry got back up he took off his glasses, which were now snapped in two, and made his way blindly through the living room to go upstairs to fix them.

"Ha! See, Vern? That's how to teach worms like _that_ respect."

"What, _abuse _them?" Dudley sneered. He pushed past Marge and helped Harry find the stairs. Harry's face was screwed up nastily, and his nose was red and throbbing. Dudley thought that he would probably be crying if it weren't for everyone in the room.

"What's wrong with him then?" Marge asked, as Dudley helped Harry up the steps by carrying his glasses.

"Huh, brain damage, huh." Vernon cleared his throat. "From the lightning," he said quickly.

"Ah, I see. Funny thing, lightning. Met a man in Delmont, chases the bloody things. Petunia, fetch us a sherry!" She clicked her fingers. "Yes, apparently, there are seven different types-"

Harry didn't make a sound for the whole time _she _was there, which must have been hard because she made him stay in stick distance throughout dinner after Dudley had managed to fix the frame of his glasses with duck tape.

He had become quite nimble with his hands now; the engineer in him was shinning through again. Only yesterday, he had fixed Vernon's car, although cars were more of a hobby than what he'd been aiming for.

During dessert, Dudley stormed out into the garden after Marge's fifth derogatory comment about children in care, so he was outside when it happened. There was a loud yelp from inside, the sound of something being tipped over and a roar of laughter. Seconds later, the screen doors opened and Harry ran out.

"AHHHHHHHH, DUDLEY, RUN!" Harry ran past him screaming, faster and louder than he had ever seen him do before. He climbed up the tree on the far side of the yard, when he yelled, "DUDLEY!"

Dudley had just enough time to turn around and put his hands out when the bulldog pounced.

Teeth! A stunning indigo flash erupted from his hand, and Aunt Marge's dog blasted off like a rocket over the house.

Dudley stared at his hand in wonderment. He must have zoned out whilst staring because Harry seemed to suddenly appear by his side, and he was there staring at it, too. He would have seen the whole thing from his viewpoint in the tree.

"Dudley…what was that purple flash?" Harry whispered eventually. "How did you-"

"Magic…" Dudley whispered to himself, still dumb and numb from what he had just experienced. He stared at Harry stupidly. "Magic."

Aunt Marge, who had had a little too much to drink, suddenly barged through the doors, followed closely by Vernon and Petunia, who looked to be the only things keeping her upright. They were all laughing as they came outside. Then they went quiet, as they looked around the garden and only found two boys and no dog.

"Where's Beatrice?" Marge demanded, so forcefully that the Dursleys lost their grip on her and she fell forward. She looked at the two boys with an evil eye, as she pushed herself up.

"_WHERE. IS. MY. DOG_?" she bent over the tops of Harry and Dudley.

Dudley and Harry slowly looked at each other, and then pointed up.

Hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, I am working on the next one as you read;) if anyone spots any major spelling hiccups don't be afraid to pm me and do review if you have the time:)


	3. Letters that never came

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter.

Thank to all those who review and carry on reviewing:) Thanks to beta Storyseeker.

**Letters That Never Came**

8

'Marge's dog ran away after Dudley bumped it on the nose' had been Harry's quick thinking that had gotten both them off the hook, yet since then Harry and Dudley's relationship seemed to stay incredibly steady. This left Dudley at a bit of a loss, as with at least a dip you can start a plan of recovery, but when nothing is moving either side of the scale…he wasn't sure how to carry on. There were no textbooks, that were for sure.

He wouldn't have thought that Harry would have been scared off by the bit of magic, as he hadn't been when Hagrid and the letters showed up in the book, but then again, Dudley wasn't a jolly half-giant with a magic umbrella.

Dudley wondered if perhaps Harry's behaviour was because he jealous, as he knew he would have been at that age, in fact he would have been at any age where magic was involved.

Maybe living with the Dursleys had had more effect on Harry than was mentioned in the books, or maybe Harry just simply didn't like him that much, although technically Dudley was family…so maybe that changed the rules, too.

Either way, Dudley found it didn't bother him all too much. If Harry was jealous, or was more Dursley-ish, he wouldn't be for much longer, not with Hogwarts on the horizon.

If there was a rule difference or Harry 'just didn't like him', then there wasn't much he could do about that anyway. Changing his personality so that a nine to ten year old kid would like him was no longer in the up most spot in his list of top priorities.

Money was his main concern now. The second was having a lot of it. Just enough so that he could afford going Hogwarts if the Dursleys wouldn't pay his way. He had decided he was going with or without _their _blessing, as he _was _an adult after all.

In theory, all he'd need to buy was a wand, and at least one set of robes. He wasn't so bothered about the other stuff like books and owls, because he had come up with a pretty good inspirational idea on the subject whilst fixing the outside boiler next door. He believed he could probably _acquire_ all the books he needed from places inside the school, if he really _needed_ them.

Once he was in the school, he thought he might also do a Slughorn, and sell some of the rarities within it for cash. _That _was the general plan. It had actually been 'the general plan' since leaving the hospital. However, after the incident with the flying dog the plan now had hot coals, water and steam turning the cogs.

This was why Dudley was currently working more jobs than he had ever done in his old life, and working hard at them. There wasn't a car cleaned, garden weeded or little old lady in distress on Privet Drive, Magnolia Crescent or Wisteria Walk. Dudley Dursley's name was mentioned and commented in every passing, and the title 'little entrepreneur' added.

He was making a real impression with the locals, and anytime Vernon or Petunia heard their names mentioned in a good light, an extra tenner was added to Dudley's allowance, and another frown given to Harry, but it still wasn't enough.

Dudley saw Harry very infrequently, as Harry spent most of his time either watching TV in his room, quietly out of the way, or at the playground at the end of Magnolia road, again out of the way.

Dudley did the lazy teenagers' paper-rounds on his bike because the post office wouldn't allow him to work for them because of his age, and he could understand why, since the paper bag would be heavy for a normal kid. Luckily, Dudley was built strong, and the sports club was making him stronger, and they had already said that they wanted him to start competing in matches.

On the odd day, Harry would help Dudley to deliver some papers, for a small cut of the profits, of course. Sometimes he would walk or ride with him on his bike, keeping in awkward silence, rarely saying a word. They hadn't even talked about the dog yet.

Dudley really wondered at times if the peaceful little boy that sometimes walked silently with him, and in his opinion watched too much telly, could actually be the legend that spaded two realities. At those times, it would seem almost impossible.

All his time working alone in people's gardens also allowed Dudley to master making flowers blossom with magic, even if it was one bud at a time. It was an idea he had gotten when thinking about the seventh book and Snape's flashbacks.

He was paid quite handsomely by Mrs Figg to keep her plants looking alive and well, but he suspected that she was doing it more so that she could keep an eye on Harry. Dudley hadn't forgotten what her role in the books really was, as the spy.

If it wasn't for these odd bits of magic that Dudley screamed out his fingers every now and then in her garden, as that was the only way in which he could get _anything _magic to happen since there wasn't any 'do magic' button inside him, he would have probably gone nuts from all the hours he was working.

Still, even with all the oddness going on between them, when it came to Harry's tenth birthday Dudley thought he might buy Harry something, a thank you for helping him out.

However, price was an option, so he ended up buying Harry the cheapest and nicest watch he could find, settling for a simple gold-brassy looking one that would match Harry's glasses. He left it outside Harry's door at midnight, sticking on the exact same note Harry had put on Dudley's tin, before knocking on it and running into his own room, which was now a creamy-white colour.

Harry was wearing the watch the next day, and gave Dudley a very quick smile at breakfast before dashing off outside in an attempt to hide it for as long as possible from Vernon and Petunia, in case they thought he didn't deserve it.

After that, life seemed to fall into a routine of work, school, and the odd zip zap of magic from then on. And before Dudley had realised it, it was coming up to his eleventh birthday.

8

"Dudley. This is taking ages!" Harry complained, resting on the hoe and looking at his watch for the fifth time. "Do you _really_ need the money?"

Dudley had been given a job by Mrs Figg to dig up a length of her garden next to the fence, so that she would have a place for her to grow her own vegetables. Dudley had managed to rope Harry into it with promises of sweets after.

"I want to be a Billionaire soooo freaking much," Dudley sang back in reply. "So stop your belly aching."

Both of them soon had their arms, legs and backs aching, and Dudley's face throbbed with a black eye and a bruise he'd gotten from boxing the night before, but he and Harry were actually having fun, if you could believe it.

"Where do you get those songs from anyway? They're so-" Harry laughed and shook his head as he pulled the hoe into position. "And I'm not belly aching, I'm just-" Whatever Harry was going to say was cut off by the back door opening, and Mrs Figg hobbled out on crutches and a plaster cast on her right leg, together with her cats that escaped out the house between her ankles.

"Dudley," she gazed at him crookedly. "That was your mother on the phone. She's asking whether you want to go to the park or the zoo for your birthday, and-' Her eyes drifted over to Harry as she spoke, but he couldn't see because he was pretending to be concentrating on hoeing. "-_who_ you want to bring."

"Zoo?" Dudley's eyes widened. "Birthday?" He dropped his shovel and started counting the days on his fingers. It would be Dudley's birthday in five days, and Harry letters had arrived weeks before his birthday, so where was _his_ letter?

"Zoo? Okay, and who are you going to take?" Mrs Figg watched him, impatiently taping the doorframe. Dudley took a few deep breaths, ignoring the cold and worrying sensation that was drifting up his back, and looked sideways at Harry, who was now unknowingly hoeing the grass as he craned his head to listen.

"Harry. Tell her I want to take Harry." Dudley saw the corners of Mrs Figg's mouth twitch into a smile, but it was quickly smothered.

"If that's what you want, dear." She turned around and walked back into the house.

"What I want," Dudley muttered to himself, picking up his shovel and stamping it back into the ground, "is my letter."

8

As Dudley, Harry and the Dursleys wandered around the zoo, Dudley tried to keep his intensifying anxiety and perpetual bad mood to himself. Each day that had passed with no letters addressed to him, neither arriving by owl or otherwise, had begun curling an odd emotion up inside him that boiled in his throat and stomach.

He managed to swallow it up, as he watched Harry run-walking toward the lions' enclosure. This trip was more for Harry's enjoyment than it was Dudley's. The Dursleys had tried to convince him to take someone else other than Harry, but they had to take Harry anyway because, as in the book, there was no one else available to take him, so he might as well let him enjoy it.

While walking around, Dudley realised he could hardly remember the last time he even went to a zoo. He had a feeling that it might have been on a primary school trip, about thirteen years ago in his old life.

'_Wow. Thirteen years.'_ Dudley thought ruefully. _'What a waste'_.

He didn't think he had enjoyed it that much at the time, but that didn't stop him exploring the zoo now with the same mild amusement and intrigue that people can't seem not to do when looking at great exotic beasts.

About halfway through the trip, he couldn't help the persistent urge to pull Harry into the Reptile House. It was almost painful that it would be their last stop on Vernon's pre-mapped out plan 'so that we can see every exhibit and get our moneys worth'. Typical man.

Dudley spent more time looking in the Lion's Den with Harry than at most of the other creatures, not because they were his favourites, as he preferred the bears. It was because the lions reminded him of something he hadn't quite put a lot of thought into.

The Sorting Hat and its ability to read minds! Would the hat even allow him into Hogwarts, which he was going to whether he had a letter or not, or if it saw what he knew? Or what he was?

The curling feeling bubbled in his stomach. He had magic, he _was_ a wizard, and he would prove it to get into that school if he had to.

His worrying about the Sorting Hat led him to think of Snape and Dumbledore, as they were both Legilimens, basically mind readers in their own right, and the information Dudley held in his head would be dangerously invaluable for anyone that learnt of it. That was just one of the reasons he had plans of not telling anybody the truth about himself at all.

As they approached the Reptile House, Dudley pushed the unsettling thoughts down, as there was nothing he could do now. He might be able to find a book on Occlumency or something when he went to Diagon Alley, which he _will _be doing. It would be annoying if he bought a book with his limited cash, and all Occlumency turned out to be was just meditation.

"Harry!" Dudley called, as they stepped into the dark and humid enclosure of the Reptile House. He spotted the Boa constrictor almost immediately and grabbed Harry by the arm and pulled him towards the snake. Harry wouldn't have been able to resist Dudley even if he tried. "Come see this!"

"Woo!" Harry smiled politely but not truly impressed, as he observed the Boa constrictor and then turned to Dudley. "It's…err, really big." he said awkwardly.

Dudley frowned as he looked at the snake. It was as Harry had said, 'really big', its whole body filling the large tank, and could wrap him up easily. He wondered how much bigger the Basilisk could be, and how stupid it was that Harry was left to fight it alone.

"Harry?" he suddenly turned sharply to him. He was making a strange noise at the tank. An exciting chill ran up Dudley's back, as he realised Harry was talking Parseltongue, and he had to squeeze the 'fan-boy smile' off his face before he could speak.

"Huh?" Harry looked at Dudley's mysterious, and badly attempted hiding, of a grin with suspicion.

"You were talking to the snake," Dudley pointed to the Boa, but the smile sneaked on his face as a plan formed in the back of his mind. He stored it away for later. The snake in question had risen to eye level with Harry.

"Was I…?" Harry said sceptically, turning back to the tank. "Was I?" he asked the snake, and all Dudley heard was a gurgling sharp hiss as if Harry was ordering the snake to answer. It was more chilling this time, and somewhat dulled the excitement within him.

The snake nodded. It was scary and fascinating.

"It understands me!" The surprised look on Harry's face was truly priceless, and everything seemed to brighten again. '_More than you know_,' Dudley thought, as he glanced at the tanks information guide, 'Born and raised inceptively.'

"Hey, Harry," Dudley, who stood behind Harry, leaned over to whisper in his ear. He checked around him for the Dursleys or any other passer by. "You know what this means?"

Harry didn't say anything, but swallowed loudly, his face less than an inch from the glass. Dudley could see on his reflection that confusion was lit across his brow.

"You're a wizard, Harry." The words felt electric in his mouth, as it was an immense moment. "Like me." Saying it out loud for the first time made it suddenly feel so much more real.

Harry spun around so fast that Dudley would have lost his balance, if he were five stone lighter. Instead, Harry bounced backwards up to the support banister under the tank, his face awash with emotions and, weirdly to Dudley, they didn't at all seem positive.

"I'm a-you're a-"Harry's eyes drilled into Dudley's. "What?"

"Shhhh-people might be watching," Dudley hissed, putting his hand up in front of Harry's mouth. He turned his head to the left, as by 'people' he meant the Dursleys, but luckily they seemed to be preoccupied at another tank.

Harry smacked Dudley's hand away instantly. A small dash appeared in the glass over his head, as the snake reared as far back into the tank as it could.

"This is it, isn't it?" Harry pointed his finger into Dudley's chest, hard. The glass cracked around the dash in a circular burst, tripling in size. _"This-" _He jabbed his finger on Dudley again, and the quaking glass doubled outwards, almost filling the frame. _"-_is what you've been up to. Don't look at me like that!" Another jab, and the dash in the centre sparkled and a large crack sped across the glass.

"I knew you lot were up to something. I just knew it. Go on, where are the cameras? You really think I'm_ that _stupid! A 'wizard'! Is that the best you could do?" Dudley was also getting angry, as he grabbed Harry's finger heatedly. '_That was quite enough of that!'_ As he did, all the cracks in the tank started to glow an angry hot orange.

"I am trying to help you-" People around the two them looked on with fear, as more of the increasingly flaming-red fractures in the glass began cracking, which neither Harry or Dudley noticed. Dudley did notice the crowd though. "You little idiot-" the glass began rippling. "You're making a scene!" he hissed.

"You know what! I was even beginning to think that you might have actually changed, but you're just the same old Dudley Durs-"

Dudley grabbed Harry by the face and threw him, and himself, to the floor before he could control himself, one of the many problems of possessing a child's body.

"Shut up!"

Harry started hitting him, but Dudley barely felt any of them and pinned Harry to floor with his superior weight and gritted his teeth. "I am NOTHING Like A DURS-!"

_**BOOM!**_

The glass above them exploded outwards in a cyclone of blue fire and molten glass, the force of the blast pressing Dudley down on Harry, and anyone not smart enough to have started running when the glass started rippling were safely blown out the way, and ran for the exits, some of them on fire.

Dudley was laid on top of Harry, his ears ringing, and everything was a bit fuzzy. He blinked eight times before he slowly rolled off him, unknowingly narrowly missing a molten slug of glass by his left shoulder.

He looked over to Harry who had pushed himself up onto his elbows, and was looking around the empty enclosure in awe. The boa then lifted itself over the ridge of melted window frame and slid out of its tank. It took a moment to look at them, and hissed at Harry. Harry hissed back before it started sliding skilfully through the minefield of molten slugs. Both of them watched it go.

"What'd it say?" Dudley asked, pushing himself up on his elbows, and then laid back down again because it made him dizzy.

"Thanks, amigos," Harry replied numbly, looking around. It wasn't just the boa tank that had exploded, although it was the largest, and snakes where escaping all around them and slithering to freedom.

"What'd you say?" Dudley asked, this time looking at Harry and able to sit up.

"Look out for the glass." The slugs of glass were melting the plastic flooring of the Reptile House, but nothing looked like it was going to bust into flames any time soon. They were safe, for now at least.

"Oh…good advice." Dudley now noticed the ball of glass to his left, and licked his lip nervously, as he realised his hands were shaking. "Are you alright?

"Huh? Oh...I'm fine. Your body kind of shielded me." Harry said humbly, as he stood up. "Dudley…this-this isn't a trick? Is it?"

"No." Dudley raised an eyebrow, then frowned deeply and got to his own feet. "You think this-" he gestured to the room irritably. "Is some sort of…oh " He could see that Harry was upset, and some of what Harry was _really_ saying sunk in. "I see."

"I thought you lot were…" Harry trailed off. "I thought it might have been a joke, you know, everything." His eyes flickered to the watch, which was now cracked, although it was more likely from the fall rather than by magic, seeing as it hadn't exploded. "So it's true...

"What? That you and I are wizards?" He gazed around the room, which was now filling with smoke, with obviously ironic intent. "Yes."

"We should probably get out of here?" It sounded more like a question, though Dudley expected it wasn't meant to be.

"Yes," he nodded. "That, too."

8

"Bloody animal right activists!" This was Vernon Dursley on the telly, on the news, just after the incident, and looking very red. Harry and Dudley's little fight made more than local headlines. It had made BBC national news, mostly because it was a slow week, and, of course, the Dursleys had recorded it and scrap-booked any and all newspaper clippings of the interview.

"Stupid people, what the hell were they playing at? Could have brought the whole zoo down with that blast. Someone could have been hurt, my son was right in the centre of it," the camera turned to Harry and then Dudley, both looking very sheepish. "Put them lot in cages is what I say."

"But we are so glad that you're safe." This was Petunia on the screen now. She hugged Dudley, making it clear that the other one wasn't hers.

Harry and Dudley exchanged looks, as they listened to the recording playing safely in Privet Drive, from the flowerbed under the living room window. It was an odd thing to do with a ten year old, sharing a 'look'.

"How do you do it?" Harry asked for the umpteenth time, as Dudley dropped a corn seed into his and Harry's hand out of a yellow clear plastic bag. "Mine always explodes."

"I don't know. I've had more practise, though, and it doesn't always work for me, does it?" Dudley cupped the seed in his hands and crunched his face up in concentration. There was a stab in his hands. "Ah, hot!" He dropped the seed and blew on his hands.

The corn seed popped into a pearly-off-white popcorn.

Harry watched with a smirk. "Only most of the time."

They'd been trying to do this for weeks after the incident at the zoo, and it was now almost the beginning of the summer holidays so they planned to do a lot more. Only Dudley seemed to get it to work without setting fire to it, although he had been trying this one on and off for months before hand.

Dudley was sure doing magic was much easier when Harry was there. Harry could already make flowers bloom after only a week, while it had taken Dudley two, although he had to do it on his own, and maybe also because living things were easier to do magic on. It was like the flower buds already wanted to be blooming, so convincing them to didn't take as much effort. Corn-seeds, however, didn't want to be popped.

"I'll never get it, Dud." Harry cupped his hands around the corn-seed, and screwed up his face as Dudley watched with hopeful well wishing. Harry opened his hand, and the seed shook and then suddenly exploded with a small bang, sending white shrapnel.

"Ahow!" They had both jumped and banged their heads on the windowpane above.

Neither of them noticed the two brown barn owls circling and diving overhead, each with a letter in their claws, or the adroit way these magnificent birds managed to throw both letters through the letterbox at the same time.

Thanks for reading : ), if you see any spelling mistakes just send us a PM. ; )


	4. Waiting for H

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Thanks to my Beta reader Storyseeker and my faithful reviewers.

**Waiting for H**

The sky was filled with a deep scarlet ball of light crashing down against a mighty, fierce blue ocean. Anyone looking from the little Edwardian cottages on the shore may have been forgiven if they'd for a second believed the sun was rising at midnight.

Dudley sat on a dusty burning sofa, in a broken burning house, in the middle of a small island. He hadn't moved or said a word, as the flames licked around him from all sides. He wanted to run, but he also wanted to burn.

Sounds echoed from the flames in blue rippling vibrations.

The slamming of a door, as it fell off its hinges: the crack of a fire coming to life after being long dead, yelling, louder and louder, and an apologetic voice.

"I'm sorry, Nicholas, but if yer' parents don't give yer' _permission_, yer' can't go. That's the rules." A white flash of light raced down from the cloudless sky. "You'll just hav' to live as a Muggle."

Then nothing.

Then…

BANG!

8

BANG!

Dudley shot up, and his breath got caught in his lungs, as if he was being choked from the inside. His eyes burned, as the sunlight pierced through the gaps of the wood boards Vernon had used to fortify the house from the letters.

Bang! Again on his door, the brass handle rattling as someone tried to open it. Vernon had installed locks on both Harry's and Dudley rooms after the two of them had tried to sneak down and get their letters early one morning. It would have gone great if Harry hadn't tripped and landed on Vernon.

Dudley's breath released in a sputter.

"Dudley? You awake?" Harry's voice came from the other side of door, fearless, amused and… excited?

"Your Dad's gone mad, and wants us all to pack our things." Then he whispered through the crack beneath the door. "I think you're right about the letters. They _must _be magic." Dudley could hear Harry, as he moved to his own room. "They were coming down the chimney!"

Cream and black bedcovers tied Dudley up in knots, which seized him tighter as he tried to pull himself free, sweat dripping from his hair and into his eyes as he did. Dudley hit the floor with a thud, but he was free, albeit losing his nightwear in the process. He shakily pulled on some jeans and a light-yellow Ralph Lauren polo shirt fresh out of his wardrobe.

All the time, his heart hammered in his ears: _permission_.

"It was a dream," he huffed, getting socks out of his drawer. His hands were trembling.

It amazed and disturbed him how his hands could tremble in fear of a dream. His hands had never trembled in his old body, even when faced with a life threatening exploding boiler during his first week of work-experience, a week gone terribly wrong.

"Suck it up. It was just a dream, a nightmare." He knew it couldn't be real. The voice, who he assumed was supposed to be Hagrid, sounded exactly like how he'd imagined it would, and nothing in this world had turned out like he imagined, so it wasn't real.

Also the voice had called him Nicholas, and only he knew his real name, and it didn't even feel like his name anymore. He shook his head. _It wasn't even scary, it was relaxing…almost, _and that was the most terrifying thing about it.

It wasn't what happened in the dream itself, but the feeling of being controlled that pressed on him. Though not physical like the devil snare bedcovers, it was a soft pressure in his head that he hadn't felt was there for a long time. It was calming, compelling and a tempting feeling, the feeling to opt-out to do nothing.

"Dudley, what is taking you so bloody long?" Vernon unlocked the door, perhaps answering his own question, and barged through it.

His face was beetroot red and missing half of his black moustache. He grabbed the discarded purple and black rucksack out from under Dudley's bed and started throwing the contents of Dudley's draws and wardrobe into it.

Dudley slowly sat down on his bed, holding tightly onto his money tin whilst staring at the mad man in his room. It was almost hypnotic, watching him wobble as he worked. "It won't work."

"What won't work?" Vernon sneered. He didn't even slow down, as he ripped one of Dudley's old shirts off the hanger.

"Running away." Dudley shrugged; all thoughts of the dream were displaced.

Vernon stopped dead, and turned to face Dudley, his eyes looking like they were being forced out of his head. He threw the half filled rucksack down the stairs, grabbed Dudley by the back of his shirt, and pulled Harry out of his room without any warning, storming them out the house, impressively kicking the rucksack into the open boot of the car as he bellowed. "WE ARE NOT RUNNING AWAY!"

8

As they ran way, crammed into Vernon's car, speeding crazily all around the motorway, Dudley was really regretting what he said to Vernon, and by the looks of it so was Harry. He whispered a plan across to Harry, as they pasted the '15 Mile To Megastation' sign.

"Those letters seemed to appear like _Magic!_ Didn't they, Harry-" this was twelfth time he said it.

"Yeah, really magical!" Harry winced painfully, groping at his jeans.

"THAT is enough! There is no such thing as MAGIC!" parking sharply in the parking lot of Megastation, Vernon spun around in his chair. "And I-"

Dudley and Harry had reached over, unlocked their doors, undone their seatbelts and had escaped from the car before Vernon had time to turn around to face them. Dudley was now running faster than he ever thought he could, followed closely by Harry.

"Oh my god, I'm gonna burst" he said, slamming the door open with his shoulder, undoing the belt and top buttons of his jeans.

"Me, too!" Harry ran in past him, heading straight for the urinal, jeans fallen halfway down his thighs. The boy's exited the toilets a couple _minutes later, _with mutual sighs of relief.

"Why'd you wind him up like that? I don't even have my clothes." Harry asked, looking around the parking lot anxiously for Vernon. They could see the car, it was empty.

"You can borrow mine," he looked up and down Harry's baggy attire. "You do anyway."

"I don't borrow anything. Your old clothes are all I've got." He said, pulling at the collar of the lime green shirt.

"Where are they?"

Harry nodded towards the car. Dudley looked over Harry's head at the white stone building.

"They're in the service station." Dudley's eyes narrowed, as he focused. He could see Vernon and Petunia sitting across from each over on the far side of the building. They were kind of hard to miss, with Vernon as red as a ripe tomato and rubbing his face in a crazy fashion, attempting to hide his half moustache. Petunia looked like she shaking and was about to come apart at any moment. "I think it might be safer for us if we wait by the car…"

The two sat down and leaned their backs against the bumper of the car. Dudley watched Vernon and Petunia from between a grey Volvo and a red Skoda. Their lips were moving, and if Dudley were any good at lip-reading then that would have been helpful.

"Who would want to talk to us this badly?" Harry signed, rubbing his glasses on his shirt. "I know you think its magic and stuff, but why now? Why would they want to talk to us now?"

Dudley gazed at Harry for a long second before answering. "Perhaps we've only just got their attention?" he spoke slowly so that Harry might come to his own conclusion; it was a lot easer to lie if you had a way of avoiding the truth.

Harry frowned and put his glasses back on, and then whispered, "You think _they _know it was us at the zoo?"

"Probably. That…would make sense." Dudley leaned his head back on the car, looking up at the long radio antenna. He slid his gaze back to the building; Vernon had just tipped over a chair while standing up sharply. His face was still red, and he was marching away from the table. "Battle positions, Harry, they're coming back."

8

The rest of the trip was done in a heated silence. The Dursleys didn't even look at the boys, as they all got back in the car, but a plus was that they didn't have Vernon's fanatical ranting or random turnarounds as they drove.

Just before the night fell, they stopped at a depressing looking hotel called Railview, just outside of Cokeworth, which was backed on to a railway line that had long been out of service.

Harry and Dudley shared a room on the far side of the building, far away from the Dursleys. Neither of them could sleep, so instead Harry helped Dudley to count the money out his tin.

"£2315," Harry smiled giddily, "and 20p." he added, throwing the 20p into the bed. "That's loads, Dud!"

Dudley half-smiled, biting back the prickly feeling of worry in his throat. _Would that be enough?_ He hoped it would. Well, it would have to be. "Yeah, I know, you can have the 20p."

"Thanks." Harry said sincerely, picking the small heptagon off the bed, as Dudley filled his tin, and stuffing it into a small mound of clothes at the foot of the bed and then climbed in. "What do you thinks gonna happen tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" Dudley said, putting a pillow in-between Harry and himself. "Letters will arrive at breakfast, we'll drive around again, and then…" He paused. Had he said too much? No, it was okay, as anyone could guess it. "Then we'll probably end up in some obscure location."

"Then after that, what?" Harry had lifted himself up with one arm so that he could look at Dudley over the pillow fort.

"Then," Dudley reached out his right hand and flicked the light switch; everything went pitch black, before their eyes adjusted. "It will be your birthday."

"Oh…yeah, I almost forgot." Dudley could feel Harry lying down; he could also hear him smiling. "You knew though."

"That's 'cos I know everything." Dudley sighed.

Harry barked into laugher; a rare occasion for Dudley.

8

The next day ran just as Dudley described. The letters came at breakfast, all two hundred of them, and were handed over to Vernon, whom disposed of them and then marched them all into the back of the car, and drove. Dudley managed to smuggle five Yorkshire teabags, four milk pots and some jam from the restaurant before they left. Old habits die hard.

What was worst than being squished next to Petunia, as she tried to calm her husband, was that Vernon was muttering to himself again. Dudley knew he ought not to be worried, as he knew what was going to happen, but even so, truthfully, he was scared. It wasn't pleasant being in a car with a mad man driving, as the books hadn't mention the several almost car crashes!

"Is that a rifle?" Dudley found himself saying sooner than he could stop himself, as he saw Vernon strutting up to the car through the heavy rain, holding a long thin package.

"No," Petunia whispered to him, holding his shoulders with a shaky and reassuring smile. "Daddies j-just gotten us something, that's all."

"Let's hope its not bullets." Petunia and Dudley both looked befuddled at Harry, who was covering his mouth with both hands.

"I've found the perfect place!" Vernon shouted, as he pulled the car door wide open and rubbed his hands with glee. "Come on! Everyone out!"

They did, and nervously huddled together. Dudley could see the hut on the rock from the shore, and it was nothing like in his dream, which cheered him up considerably.

It was worse.

8

Dudley and Harry sat close together on the moth-eaten sofa, under the combination of two mouldy blankets the Dursleys expected them to sleep in, staring into the damp fireplace.

"We could burn the bookcase," Dudley said absently, as he looked at his hands. He had taken the bandages off after they were soaked in the boat ride to the hut. Oddly, his hands would twitch every time thunder rolled overhead, but only when close enough to shake the shack.

"Help me take out the shelves." He stood up, looked at Harry and smiled, fed up of being cold. "We'll use them for firewood"

"How you gonna start it?" Harry asked attentively, getting out from under the blanket. "Magic?"

He looked at his cracked watch and then wandered over to the collapsing moss-grown bookcase in the left corner of the room, and helped Dudley to pull free the half-rotted shelves.

"Won't we get in trouble for using magic? They're already sending us letters," Harry said with concern, as they started ripping out the dry pages from the three books left on the shelf. They pushed them through the gaps of the tepee shape that Dudley had arranged over the sizzled remains of the crisp packets that they'd had for supper, and what Vernon had tried to start a fire with. "I mean, maybe doing magic's illegal or something."

"Probably," Dudley said, not really listening, as he pulled out the rusted steel fireguard and placed it in front of the fire. "But we'll be warm-" he lit one of the matches from Vernon's discarded matchbox that he'd tea-leafed earlier, and carefully lighted the torn pages as tinder. "And that's what's important."

He threw Harry the matchbox from behind him. It went wide, but Harry still managed to catch it. "Don't need magic to start a fire, just-" Dudley turned to Harry and tapped the side of his head.

Harry looked at the matchbox in his hands, smiled, and then rolled his eyes. "You think you're so clever."

"I do." Dudley smiled, turning back to the fire, adding the kindle to the tinder and then blowing the fire to life. Social Services were good for something, especially if you knew how to get into the activity programs.

Twenty minutes later, the boys sat in front of a raging fire, not feeling quite as damp and depressed as they were. They also used the time and the heat to dry their clothes, and the mouldy blankets were feeling quite toasty, sitting on them by the fire.

"I saw you looking at it earlier," Dudley asked, staring at the cracked watch. "That thing still work?"

Harry lifted his watch. "Yeah. Been a bit funny lately, though." He looked around the room, or rather at the connecting door to where Mr and Mrs Dursley were sleeping before staring into the fire. "Thanks, you know, for getting it."

"No problem. What's family for." Dudley shrugged, rolling his eyes to the connecting door. "What time is it?"

"Eleven fifty nine…ohm twenty seconds_ until-_

"We should put the kettle on!" Dudley interrupted, suddenly animated. He would be here soon.

"What kettle?" Harry asked, looking around the room, bemused.

Dudley ran to the window. He couldn't see anything through the storm, only thick heavy rain and sea blasting against the rocks. Wait! What was that? He saw something fall from the sky and land on the rock, and it was now moving towards the hut.

"What is it?" Harry asked, getting to his feet. "Is it them? Are they out there?"

"Oh yeah," Dudley said, as he quickly moved to the door, almost knocking Harry over as he head for the window. "Someone big." Dudley knew he must have looked more manically happy than Vernon when he said it, and was glad Harry was too busy trying to look out the window to notice.

Dudley grabbed the door handle and pulled it open. As he did, the wind caught it and knocked Dudley backwards as it blew inwards. Before it could slam against the wall, a large hand grabbed it, and a great body entered the house, shutting the door with ease.

"Yer' gotta be careful with these things durin' a storm," it said, knocking the door lightly with its large knuckles. "Mines same. Bit a' wind will take it right off. There yer' go, up yer' get!" A whimper escaped Dudley's lips, as Hagrid lifted him off the ground effortlessly and placed him back on his feet.

"Oh good, yer' got a' fire going. Lovely." Hagrid's face was mainly a thick matted brown beard, but his dark eyes shone amid it with cheery mirth, as he plonked himself on the sofa, bending its frame. "Anyone for a cup o' tea? It's been a' journey…"

"We were just going to put the kettle on," Harry said, still standing by the window, looking pointedly over his glasses at Dudley as he said it. "But we don't have one."

Dudley tried his best to look innocently back, then watched with amazement as Hagrid pulled out a bronze kettle, a poker, three chipped tea cups, a pack of sausages and a glass bottle which looked like whiskey, out his coat.

"Plates?" Dudley asked the half-giant, as he handed him the sausages.

"Yep, gotte'm here," he said, and then pulled out three plates with large daises printed around the rims, and some mismatching forks, and a large knife. Hagrid looked at the knife, his eyes broaden as he remembered something.

"Oh yea', Harry," Hagrid said, digging his hands through his many pockets, pulling out a slightly squished box and motioning to Harry to come closer. "I mighta sat on it at some point."

He handed Harry the box and watched with glittering beetle black eyes, as Harry opened it. "Happy Birthday, Harry! Gosh, you look like yer' dad, but not yer' eyes though, them a' yer mums"

8

Harry and Dudley sat down in front of Hagrid by the fire, eating sausages, sipping tea and eating chocolate cake as he explained everything, about who he was, Hogwarts, and even about Voldemort. Dudley, to his surprise, was just as captivated as Harry was.

It was so late that it was getting early; the fire was beginning to die down, as was the storm outside, before Dudley asked the one question he was dreading the answer to. He swallowed.

"Hagrid, if the Dur-mum and dad, didn't want me to go to Hogwarts-" Dudley glazed at the man's huge furry face and found his eyes. "Can they stop me from going?" his voice actually wobbled as he asked, making him feel his body's age.

There was a long pause. Hagrid's brow deepened, as he leaned back on the sofa. Dudley was also aware that Harry was staring at him from behind.

Hagrid let out a large sigh. "Well…it depends."

Dudley gritted his teeth, as he hated when people were vague. "Depends on what?"

"How determined yer are t' get there." Hagrid leaned forward and whispered, his eyebrows wobbling up and down like two oversized hairy caterpillars.

"You mean I can just… _turn up_? And they'll let me in." that sounded far too easy.

"Err... yer'll hav' to put yer name down first cours', and pay the-," Hagrid must have seen Dudley's face fall at the mention of money, because he waved his hand as if wafting away the words, "-but Gringotts will happily lend yer the money. Why I haven't met a wizard who hadn't had one, they even did one fer' me." He then mumbled something under his breath that sounded to Dudley like 'still paying it off'.

"What's Gringotts?" Harry asked, moving closer to Dudley and Hagrid.

"Wizardsbank." Hagrid and Dudley said together, and Hagrid looked a Dudley suspiciously. "How'd yer' know that?"

"Err, umm, who else would give me a lone? How do I apply for one?" he added quickly, trying to back peddle away from the connotation.

"Oh that's easy, ser'pose we could set you up a' vault when we go shoppin'." Hagrid looked angrily at the connecting door again. Harry and Dudley had stopped Hagrid from barging in there and waking the Dursleys several times already. "Should leave yer' Mum a' note before we go." Hagrid's eyes suddenly widened.

"Oh right, shoulda' sent this off when I got here!" Hagrid pulled an owl out of his pocket. If owls could gasp for air, this one would have and, like the cake, it looked like it had been sat on at some point.

Hagrid wrote something on a piece of paper and tied it to its leg, and then threw it out the door. "Here." Hagrid handed Dudley some parchment and a quill. "We'll leave first thing in the morning." He nudged Harry in the side and winked, nodding his head at the door. "Sav'us the trouble."

8

"Best night sleep in ages, my dear," Vernon Dursley said, stretching. His back cracked loudly as he did, but he ignored the pain of it, as it was worth it to know he had won against those, those…_people_.

"Yes," Petunia answered, kneading her aching shoulder through her pink and frilly nightdress. "But perhaps we should go home now, Dear.?" She asked encouragingly.

"Don't be ridiculous, sweetheart, that's exactly what _they_'d want us to do." Vernon smiled twistedly, turning to Petunia as he opened the connecting door. "We've got to stay one step ahead, its what separates us from _them,_" he spat the word._ "_Thought they could out smar_-_"

Vernon stopped stone-cold dead, as he looked into the room. There was no one there, except a letter on a squished box in the middle of the floor in front of the fireplace. Vernon slowly walked into the room, bent down and picked up the letter.

_Dear Mum & Dad,_

_Gone to Wizarding World for a couple of days with a giant. Will see you at home. _

_Love Dudley. _

_P.S. Borrowing the car._

"Where is he?" Petunia's eyes widened from the doorway. "Where's Diddykins?" She ran into the room franticly, realizing something was _very_ wrong. Vernon pushed the note blindly into her, let out a squeak, and then fainted.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I decided not to go Hogwarts in this chapter because it would have been far too long. Hogwarts is on the horizon. P.S. if you see any spelling bloops, you know what to do ; )


	5. An awful lot of running

Thanks to my Beta Storyseeker, to reviewers.

**An Awful Lot of Running!**

Driving the car was amazing, even though it was more cramped up than before. He'd forgotten how much he missed it, the freedom of going wherever you wanted to go, proving there was a road, of course, and he couldn't help but wonder what the Weasleys' flying car must be like, as he'd sped down the motorway.

They drove all the way to London with Hagrid sitting in the back, and when a policeman pulled them over, Hagrid pointed his umbrella at him, and from then on they were able to drive behind the police car all the way there. Best. Road-trip. Ever!

They dropped the car off at the train station and headed into town, following Hagrid closely, the only way not to get lost in the crowds of people, until they found what they were looking for, The Leaky Cauldron. Dudley didn't know how a rickety and grubby old pub could look so…beautiful.

Dudley must have unintentionally held his breath, as he entered the wizarding pub, because it released from him like the relaxing sigh of getting into a warm bath at the end of a long day.

_A two year long day _Dudley thought to himself, as Hagrid took him by the shoulder and led him and Harry deeper into the pub, with the odd on-looker watching them with amusement or a scowl.

"Hagrid, the usual?" a cheery man from behind the bar called out, as they came near.

_That must be Tom._ There was a pause in Dudley's mind, and then a feeling of _Uh Oh,_ as he reached out for Harry, ready to grab his arm while he looked around the pub.

"Nah, can't, Tom. On official Hogwarts business." Hagrid patted both boys on their shoulders, the weight almost making their knees buckle.

"Good Lord… Is it? Can it be? Bless my soul!" The whole pub went quiet, as Tom spoke. Dudley grabbed Harry's arm, who didn't resist but gave Dudley a strange look. "Harry-"

Whoosh!

"Move!" Dudley barked, as he yanked Harry hard and fast, so suddenly that Hagrid nearly fell forward, towards the only possible exit that he could see, a dark somewhat wonky corridor by the side of the bar.

"-Potter!"

The people in the pub practically jumped into chase. Harry got the idea and was now running with Dudley towards the opening. Someone stood up from their chair, which of course fell directly in front of them.

Luckily, Dudley was able to get a foot on its frame and run right over it. While he did, he caught a glimpse of something in the corner of his eye, as he turned. Time seemed to slow down, as he stared eye to eye with the man who had 'accidentally' knocked over the chair, who was wearing a purple turban.

_Quirrel! _Snapped the inner voice of his mind like an alarm bell. Perhaps because he already knew, or perhaps because the man didn't have time to put on his mask, but Dudley saw something dark in _that_ man's expression.

The boys hit the ground running, and didn't stop until they reached a small dead-ended courtyard at the back of The Leaky Cauldron. When they turned around, they could only see Hagrid's back. His whole body filled the corridor, and blocked off the adoring fans, like a barricade.

"Alright, that's enough." Hagrid's accent somehow made itself heard over the childish wines of grown wizards and witches. He turned around. "Told yer' you were famous didn't I, Harr-OI!" Someone in a top-hat was trying to squeeze through Hagrid's legs. "Get back, Dedalus!" Hagrid said to the man between his legs.

"I just wanna shake his-"

"Back!" Hagrid said again more forcefully, pushing the hat and crumpling it. Dedalus regrettably crawled away. "Blimmin' ridiculous, rate some people..." He muttered under his breath, as he joined the boys, taking his place between them, and tapping the stones with his umbrella. "Three up…two across…"

Dudley stared at the wall, as a hole slowly appeared and the bricks began to tumble in on themselves. A large archway, big enough even for Hagrid to walk right through, revealed itself to them.

Dudley's brain exploded, his knees felt weak, his fingers tingled, and he was blinking like he'd suddenly gone blind. He was vaguely aware he was still breathing, and yet he had no-idea how.

"Welcome to- 'ey wait!"

Dudley was off! A warm breeze at his heels lifted his speed, as if a great spirit was ushering him forward.

He could feel the magic radiate on him stronger with every step. It was like walking into the first warm daylight at the end of winter, as it touched the foremost reaches of him. He hadn't felt something like this since-since…ever. This was a new gigantic tsunami of a feeling.

He caught the toe of his trainer on the uneven cobbles, managing to stay up right, but skidding around the corner of the dark alleyway leading to… A vision of beauty and magnificence erupted into sight.

Strangely dressed people in robes that no one battered an eyelid to, their bags walking or floating besides them. Looking up and around, he saw buildings that towered, twisted and curled. The engineer in him told him that what he was seeing couldn't have even begun to exist. His mind was reeling! This was like the conventions his dad used to bring him to, except everything was real.

His face hurt from the uncontrollable grin that had awoken there, as he reached his arms out like a trophy winning fool. He could die now, he could die _right _now, and it would be a worth it!

Then he lowered his arms, the bliss of the moment was running its course and rumbling away in soft lingering sighs, and slowly, still breathing in everything and making every breath count, Dudley cast his eye around the alley, humbled that it was _he_ out of the billions upon billions of fans that was allowed to experience _this_. The feeling hadn't truly sunk in yet, and there was still so-so-so much more to see.

"You, alright, Dud?" Harry asked from behind him.

He swallowed and felt silly, as he dried his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Ye-ah," he crocked. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he said again, lowering his voice. Dudley spun around on his heels and flashed Harry a smile. "Come on, let's go to Gringotts!"

8

Gringotts was **THE **_most_ intensely and tediously boring thing that Dudley had ever suffered through. He didn't even manage to get a go on the underground vault-carts. All because the second he asked to set up a vault, he was separated from Hagrid and Harry and put into an office with two Goblins, Glevicrok and Slylievic.

Several of the contracts they offered Dudley, he had to point blank refuse, and with good reason. The Goblins obviously thought that his age and dopey grin, as he stared around the bank, would mean that he would be an easy target to exploit and would sign anything they put in front of him. Oh, were they wrong! Handling issues of money with Goblins had a very_ sobering _quality.

By the time Dudley was holding his key, had his money and contract to a lone. Harry and Hagrid had been waiting outside the bank for little over an hour. When they asked how it all went, Dudley reply was, "I hate bankers."

"Shall we go get yer' uniforms then?" Hagrid led them down the white steps to Madams Malkins'. Dudley frowned, as they came nearer. _What was it?_ His eyes widened. _Draco_! This was where Harry met Draco, and a smile grew on his face, and then it dropped. Harry had done it alone, so why hadn't Hagrid left?

"Hagrid? Err, you've been waiting for me all this time, so why don't you-err-have a drink at The Leaky Cauldron. I'm sure Harry and I can handle getting our ropes." Dudley asked, trying to sound guilty for making the giant-man wait.

Hagrid just laughed and patted him on the back. "Oh that's alright, Dudley, me an' Harry already took that privilege. Told yer' 'e wouldn't mind did' I, Harry.

"We got you an ice cream, but it was melting. So I had to eat it." Harry smiled earnestly at Dudley from behind Hagrid's back. "Sorry," he quickly added, as he saw Dudley's face drop.

It was dawning on Dudley that he might have been in the bank too long, Draco would have finished getting his robes ages ago, and he probably was at Malfoy Manor right now. _Oh great, now I have to wait until Hogwar-no, the train to meet him._ He huffed, and then realised Harry had just said something to him.

"Yeah, whatever. Let's just get the robes."

"We can get yer' another one if yer' want." Hagrid patted him on the shoulder, smiling considerately. Dudley looked at him, puzzled.

"What?"

"Ice cream," Harry piped in.

Dudley looked at him, confused. "What?" he asked again, as they walked into the robe shop. Other than a pear-shaped man getting his measurements done, they were the only ones there. No Malfoy.

With gold in their pockets, the motley crew began their shopping, or rather Harry's shopping. Unfortunately, the Gringotts Educational Loan didn't allow for school equipment, as 'Hogwarts School has a very extensive and capable library, and a large stock of used textbooks and equipment'.

He was prepared for something like that to happen anyway, so he had the contents of his tin converted directly to Wizarding money, allowing him to bypass putting money in his vault, as any money that spilled into his account would be instantly absorbed by the bank as payment for his loan…and that was the best contract availably. Greedy Goblins!

So while Hagrid and Harry bought school things, Dudley found himself letting out an uncontrollable giggle, or squeak of joy as he saw things he recognised or even better, things he didn't. His joy must have been contagious because Hagrid couldn't seem to stop smiling either, while Harry for the most part just looked embarrassed as people stared at them, as they walked through the streets.

Flourish & Blotts was stacked literally to the ceiling with books; even the pillars that held the bookstore up were made to look like columns of books, and every book looked as if their bindings' were handmade. Dudley wanted to read them all, even if it took a lifetime.

While Harry and Hagrid went to collect Harry's schoolbooks, Dudley wandered around the shop in search of a certain type of manual. The genres that the store used were very odd, as they ranged from Rare, NEWT, E to O- Advanced, Advanced, Popular, Common, Troll, Squib-able, Non-magic, Muggle, and right at the very back of the store and down its own corridor, Obscure.

He made a B-line for the Obscure, musing over the subtext of putting Troll before Squib-able, Non-magic and Muggle. He noticed that it got darker and sleazier the farther he walked into the shop, and he saw fewer and fewer people there. The whole atmosphere was drastically different from the exciting and colourful front of the shop, and he almost felt like he'd stumbled into the 'Adult Section'.

The books in this corridor were dusty, old and all fitted into the same colour scheme, dark. His gaze slipped over the labels. The dust was so thick on some of the books that he could see where someone had once run a finger across their spines.

"_The Lost Visions, Dominance Of The Night, Languages Of Beasts. Magic By The Stars, Cursing the non-believers._" Dudley read out each title with squinted eyes. He hated when authors used small swirling fonts! "_Conquering The Mind, _that sounds promising."

The book was a broad, heavy tome and had been wedged deep into the bookshelf. It took both arms and a foot for Dudley to pull it free. The book's bindings were dark indigo, with embossed green spirals on a thick leather tablet that almost felt like skin, which probably accounted for most of the weight.

Dudley looked in the index and found what he was looking for, which was a good thing considering the effort he put in getting it. He hadn't fancied the idea of putting it back either. In black swirly ink: _Chapter 24, Occlumency, The Wall_.

He heaved the book to his chest, dirtying his shirt with the dust, and carried the book to the paying desk. The man at the counter couldn't have been much older than he would have really been, and had a kind-looking face slightly hidden by the thin framed glasses that rest high on his nose.

"Five Galleons," Dudley announced, allowing the book to slam on the table, spraying years of dust everywhere.

"Huh, err," the young man coughed into his sleeve, opening the cover of the book and looking into the corner. "It says twenty."

Dudley raised an eyebrow, and then waved a hand over the mess on his clothes. "Five."

"I am sorry for your clothes, but the price is clearly stamped. Perhaps if you ask for some more money from your mum-" the man looked around the shop, seeking for an parent.

"My mother is dead." Dudley tapped the cover of the book and ran a finger across the cover, and pointed to it in front of the casher. "Look, _Jakins_," Dudley read off the gold plate on the table, and then stared into the man's eyes. "You haven't sold this book for years, and you're not going to for twenty Galleons. Start haggling." The cashers' kind face started to redden.

"How about fifteen?" he was nervously looking over Dudley' head, as if expecting someone to pop out, yelling his name.

"Eight, and that's my _only _offer. Take it or leave it, or I will." Dudley reached into his pocket and fished out eight gold coins, and dropped them into the cashier's hand as he spoke. The young man looked at the gold in his hand, and as he did, Dudley moved the book off the desk and walked towards the door. "Good doing business with ya'"

"Hey, I-" but before he could start, Dudley was already gone. The man looked around, and then slowly slid the gold coins into his pocket.

A couple of minutes later, Harry and Hagrid appeared from the shop looking for Dudley. Dudley gave Hagrid the book to look after, as they eagerly made their way to Ollivanders. Hagrid had bought Harry a snowy white owl from the _Owl Emporium_ on the way.

8

Dudley and Harry gazed around the room, as boxes upon boxes of wands were spilt everywhere, dust floated and sparkled in the air, and the whole shop seemed to buzz with magic.

"Welcome."

Everyone jumped, as a man with silver hair and pale skin suddenly appeared from behind a large mountain of precariously balanced boxes.

"Mr Ollivander!" Hagrid said cheerfully, getting up from the only chair in the shop to greet the man. However, he managed to bump his head on the ceiling, causing the precariously balanced boxes to fall. Harry had to dive out the way, so as not to be caught under the avalanche, but Ollivander wasn't so quick.

"Oh no, quite my own fault." Ollivander said in a feather soft voice, standing up as he slapped Hagrid's hands away. "No, no, I'm quite alright."

He then grabbed one of Hagrid's large fingers. "Hagrid? Oak, 16, rather bendy. Broken, wasn't it?" He fixed on him with his pale moon-like shining eyes like an owl. "You haven't been using it, have you?"

Hagrid pulled his hand back, as if he'd been bitten and put it behind his head, as if to scratch his neck whilst moving backwards to the chair. "No, no, cos' not."

"You okay?" Dudley asked, moving over to Harry and helping him up.

"After nearly getting skewered?" Harry whispered, pointing to where four wands that had fallen from their boxes and were now standing up right in the floorboards.

"Better than actually being skewered, Mr Potter." Ollivander turned his gaze onto Harry, and had a thin turned up smile.

"Shall we begin?" He snapped his fingers by the side pockets of his apron, and two silver measuring tapes shot out and started to wiz around the two boys. "Hold out your best arm."

Harry and Dudley looked at each other. Dudley grinned, Harry smiled, and they both held out their right arms. Mr Ollivander stepped in-between them, facing Harry. "Let's have a look at you. Hmm, yes, you're very much like your father. Mahogany, 11 inches, pliable, excellent for transfiguration. Not your eyes, however, they are most certainly your mothers."

Dudley rolled his eyes, which Harry saw and snorted back a laugh. Ollivander turned slightly to Dudley, and then looked back at Harry.

"It seems only yesterday that she was here, buying her own wand. She favoured 10 ¼, willow, swishy, very nice wand for charm work. I say favoured, though it's really the wand that chooses the wizard."

Ollivander lean in so that he was almost nose-to-nose with Harry. "And that's where…" Harry looked past him, as he reached an arm up to touch his scar. Dudley took hold of it before it achieved mid lift.

"Keep your hands to yourself-"

Ollivander twisted quickly out of Dudley's grip, and stood full height and stared at him in the face. His large pale eyes were very penetrating. Dudley held his head up, but did not meet his gaze, just in case…

"Yes?" he said softly, and relaxed he spun again so that he was facing Harry. Dudley decided then that he didn't like Ollivander very much, as he was quite rude and creepy in person.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magic substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And, of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand. That's enough." The Measuring tapes stopped, and Harry's fell to the floor, while Dudley's winded itself up and flew to Ollivander.

Dudley chuckled, as Harry was handed wand after wand and having to wave them around. After the fifth time, it wasn't as funny anymore (although Ollivander seem to be enjoying himself), so Dudley paced around the shop before getting very engross, moving the mountains of boxes, sometimes revealing things of mild interest. However, most of time it was just more boxes.

"Tricky customer, eh?" Dudley heard from behind, as he moved a set of wand polish kits. "I wonder-"

"Hmm." Ollivander smoothly walked around the shop counter and pulled out another wand, giving it to Harry. "Holly and phoenix feather, 11", nice and supple; an unusual combination…"

Harry gave the wand a large swish, and red and gold sparks fired from the tip. Hagrid and Dudley clapped. Then Ollivander leaned close to Harry again, and whispered something Dudley couldn't hear, but from the way Harry had started fiddling with his scar, he could guess.

"All right, now you." Ollivander pointed at Dudley and waved him over. Dudley gave Harry a nod as they past each other. "Hmm, shall we try, yes. Rosewood, 13½, unicorn hair stiff." The rod-like wand felt oddly hollow in Dudley's hand, as the old man pulled it out his hand.

"Try this one." Ollivander snatched it off of him immediately, and took a sharp hold of both Dudley's hands and rubbed his long thumbs in circles over the scars there. He leaned in close. "You've been scarred, too."

"They're not from magic." Dudley frowned, as he pulled his hands away. "I was hit by lightning."

"_Struck_, lightning does not _hit._" Ollivander corrected, as he swiftly moved around the shop and pulled up an old ladder to the fourth shelf of narrow boxes. It didn't look safe for an old man to be doing, and the ladder shook with every step. Dudley glanced to Harry and Hagrid, and Hagrid looked as he was reading himself up for the fall, while Harry was staring quietly at his wand.

"Ah-ha!" Ollivander sped down the ladder, holding a long blacken wand. "Oak, 14, Dragon heartstring, powerful release. "

Ollivander handed Dudley the wand. It was hot to the touch, and a chill ran up his arm. Dudley swung the wand upwards, and bright white sparks exploded from the tip. For a split second, he felt a real sense of 'mine' jiggle in his brain. Hagrid clapped him, as did Harry.

"Experimenting with Wandcraft is often met with fatal failure. The woman who made that wand was _playing _with lightning during its construction. The wand survived, but the witch, unfortunately, didn't." Ollivander then regarded Dudley silently, coolly, with a small smile twitched at his lips. "Who are you, young man?"

"Dudley." He felt his stomach drop so heavily he thought he might throw up. Did he know? _No he can't, I never once looked in his eyes_. The chilly thought prickled at the back of his neck. "Dursley," he added a little too quickly.

"That'll be seven Galleons from you, Mr Dursley, and you, Mr Potter." Ollivander took hold of the wand in Dudley's hand.

"Well, that wasn't creepy at all." Dudley said, trying to rub some of the muck off his clothes once they were back at The Leaky Cauldron, which was, much to Harry and Dudley's relief, almost empty.

Hagrid had wanted them to go straight home, as if that was going to happen. They booked a room together while Hagrid talked to Tom over the bar, seeing if he could hire an owl.

8

"Dudley?" It was approaching midnight. "What do you think Hogwarts will be like?" Harry asked from the other side of the room.

Dudley was reading through Chapter 24 for the fifth time. His episode with Ollivander had scared him immensely, and he wanted to make sure he had some way of protecting his mind before Hogwarts. But from the looks of it, Occlumency was not something he could master easily, particularly on his own, and certainly not when he was so green to magic.

"I think it'll be great." He smiled over at Harry. "Scary and brilliant, better than being at the Dursleys' or Smeltings any day. You'll make good friends, sneak out at night and duel in the corridors." Dudley yawned. "And if anyone gives you any grief I'll clobber em'. Blow out your candle."

"I'm not gonna be sneaking out and duelling, Dud. I haven't even got a sword." Harry laughed, plunging them in darkness.

8

In the end, Harry and Dudley spent a week at The Leaky Caldron (he sent Hedwig with a letter to his parents, explaining such) and exploring Diagon Alley with Hagrid, who followed them everywhere. It was he in the end that had to march Dudley and Harry into the Dursley's car, which had only managed to stack up one parking violation. Now _that,_ to Dudley, was magic!

Those weeks with Vernon and Petunia were the closest to perpetual silence that Dudley had ever known. He was glad Harry was there to remind him that he still existed, because to Vernon he most certainly didn't. Harry had more kind words (well, not _kind, _but actual words) to speak to him, and Vernon had also put more than five locks on their doors, and wouldn't let them out. He even tried to stop Harry and Dudley talking to each other the whole time they were there.

The Dursleys weren't pleasant people, but he was still supposed to be their son, so he wondered how they must have felt when they found him gone. He wondered what _he _would have felt if he had a child. He tried to shake that thought out of his head, but it continued to linger. By the end of their stay, Dudley felt relatively bad, or at least sympathetic for them.

8

It wasn't an interesting tale as to how the boys got to Kingscross at the beginning of September, which looked completely different to the Kingscross in Dudley's world, although so were many of the things in this world.

Vernon's locks were his downfall, as being trapped in a room for weeks allowed Dudley to do one thing, practise magic and plan.

The law against doing underage magic outside of school didn't come into practise until the start of first year (thank you _Hogwarts, a History_!) because giving eleven year olds wands and them not using them was an impossibility.

Dudley could cast an 'Alohomora_',_ a simple point and shoot spell, with ease now. It didn't even feel like magic, but more like press the open button on car keys. Once their doors were unlocked and bags packed, they got a taxi to London the night before the start of term, and followed Hedwig like a sat-nav until they found The Leaky Cauldron.

They'd gotten some odd looks from the night-folk, as Dudley called them, but only one guy asked if they were on their own, and Dudley dragged Harry away from him pretty quickly. They logged at The Leaky Cauldron, had breakfast in Diagon Alley, and then walked to Kingscross train station.

"Now, where do we go?" Dudley asked himself, and the stations board map.

"Platform 9 ¾," Harry said, getting out their tickets.

"I know that. I mean from here." Dudley pointed at the red dot with an arrow saying 'you are here'

"Are you boys lost?" a tall plump man, dressed from head to toe in blue uniform, was standing right behind them, looking curiously at Harry's luggage.

"Yeah, we need to find Platform 9 an-" Harry started.

"Platform 9," Dudley quickly interrupted. "Can you show us where it is, please? We're supposed to meet our uncle there." The man in blue was frowning at Hedwig, who looked like she was trying to frown back. "-With his stuff, he's a bird trainer" Dudley added confidently.

"We always see loads of children with birds this time of year."

"Oh, you would," Dudley lied. "There's a bird trainers convention. It's a spectacular show, _isn't it,_ Harry?"

"Yeah-yeah, spectacular," Harry agreed, smiling politely as he caught on. If there was one thing Dudley had taught Harry, it was how to go along with a lie, particularly after the incident at the zoo when the police had asked them a lot of questions regarding the explosion.

The uniformed man smiled, satisfied, and led them across the departures lobby to Platform 9. Dudley saw Harry's face drop, as he realised there wasn't a Platform 9 ¾ other than the ticket barrier between Platform 10. Before Harry voiced his concern to their escort, Dudley silenced him with a look, and waited for the uniformed man to walk away.

"Where is it?" Harry hissed, the worry evident in his voice. "We're gonna miss it, Dud."

"Don't worry, we've got a while yet." Dudley flicked his eyes to the large clock over-head. They had about a quarter of an hour before departure. "It's through that brick-wall, come on."

"Wha-what?" Harry watched with astonishment, as Dudley strolled over to the pillar, and put his hand right through it.

"Come on!" Dudley grabbed the front of Harry's trunk and, smiling, pulled him through the barrier. _No offence, Weasleys, but I'm not waiting!_ He thought; walking through the barrier, eyes open. If you knew the wall wasn't a wall, then why would anyone need a run up, as it boggled the mind?

"Wow," Harry said, as they moved into the hidden station.

In front of them was a huge red train, which shined as if it had been freshly painted and polished, with hundreds of people and children clambering and hugging each other, as they got onboard.

Dudley half-smiled to himself, looking over the train fondly. He was one of the few people who had actually taken a ride on the train from the film, and even luckier he got to have a look 'under the hood'. Steam engines are cool! Dudley helped Harry to get their shared luggage onto the train, making sure that they had some schoolbooks to read on the journey.

Harry had allowed Dudley to read his schoolbooks during their time at the Dursleys, which were really cool, and had read them all, though not understanding half of it, and the half he did he wasn't so sure on, but it was a welcome break from _Conquering The Mind._ Dudley had hammered through_ Conquering The Mind_ so many bloody times now that he could recite Chapter 24 word for word, and it didn't make learning Occlumency any easier.

He could manage to empty his head pretty quickly. It was more of a trick than Occlumency though. 'An enemy can't read a memory, if the memory ain't there'? A lot of the language in the book seemed to have northern tangs within it, probably because the author (no name given) used magic to directly transcribe the text itself, or at least that was Dudley's theory.

As they made their way towards the train, Dudley, who was tall for his age, looked around at the students, seeing if he could spot anyone he might recognize. He couldn't much see anyone because much bigger people blocked most of his vision.

"Did you see that boy? He's got a scar." Dudley heard, as they passed a small crowd of five. He turned, as did Harry, and the crowd all openly stared at them before looking away quickly, as if they realised what they been doing. Not wanting to be mobbed, Dudley took Harry's arm and sped him up towards the train.

"That was him! That was him! _Harry Potter_." They could hear, as the walked hurriedly away.

"Recon' that fat kid' 's bodyguard or somethin'?"

"Yeah, yeah!"

"I bet I could take him out tho."

"Doubt it!" Dudley muttered once Harry got in the train. Bodyguard? Fat kid? He wasn't that big, was he? Dudley looked at his gut. He was still 'well rounded', he knew that, but he'd lost loads, though granted he put on some muscle and that gave him some frumpiness.

"Pricks," he grumbled, as he lifted Harry's case over the step.

"Don't listen to 'em, Dud." Harry said reassuringly from the other side of the case. He flashed him a smile. "Besides, I could use a bodyguard."

Dudley didn't say anything, not quite sure what to say, but smiled as they got the luggage cart in the train and found a place to sit at one of the empty compartment at the back of the train. Both were nervous and excited.

Within ten minutes, they heard 'Harry Potter' mentioned again and again outside and inside the train so many times that Dudley lost count. Each time they heard it, Harry seem to get more nervous and less excited.

"Lee Jordan says, "

"That he heard from a Ravenclaw"

"Who heard from a Hufflepuff,"

"Whose brother thinks he's seen-"

"_Harry Potter!"_ Harry and Dudley looked out their compartment window, as this had been the loudest mention yet, but what caught their attention was that it sounded like someone was talking to _themselves_. It was, however, a pair of redheaded twins.

The twins turned and pointed right at their window. As they did, Harry sank as far back in his seat as he could physically go. Dudley didn't move, as he stared blankly at the six Weasleys, all standing together. It wasn't hard to guess who was who… Well, except perhaps the difference between the twins.

They all looked friendly enough, though, as one of the twins even waved at Dudley. He waved back absently, but his eyes were locked on the youngest Weasley boy. Ron, for there was no doubt it was he, who looked just about as nervous as Harry did.

Dudley sat back, facing Harry, brooding. He couldn't just _let_ Ron be Harry's friend, as he wasn't even sure _he_ was Harry's friend exactly, and Ron coming along could just blast that ship right out the water. It wasn't like Ron had any big importance in the books, other than comic relief.

"Ah!" Harry sharply looked at Dudley as the noise escaped; Dudley quickly turned it into a yawn and hide his face behind his book, eyes wide. _Scabbers_. A whistle was blown and a mad dash of kisses, hugs and goodbyes could be heard, as finally, the train started to move.

I know, still no Hogwarts, I thought Nick going to Diagon Alley and getting his wand, for the first time needed its own chapter:) as always any mistakes missed or made if you have the time PM me. Thanks to all those who have ;) perhaps I need two beta-readers: \


	6. Bad Dreams

Big Thanks to Beta Storyseeker.

**Bad Dreams**

_Scabbers…Peter Pettigrew…Sirius. _

Dudley stared at the yellow pages of his book, not reading a word. What was he going to do? Grab the rat and run? This was a tight bind. The obvious thing to do would be to tell Dumbledore, but then what if Dumbledore already knows? Dudley couldn't remember what the wizard's stance was in the books.

One thing was for certain though, that he couldn't just allow an innocent man to rot in prison. To Dudley that was a crime in itself. A frustrating feeling rummaged and pressed in the space between his eyes. He could have done something about this a year, or two, ago.

An ominous trail of thoughts began, bits and bobs from all the seven books pinched in his head and moved around his mind like worms, making themselves known, both small thing and big things._ And if the capture went wrong then would Voldemort be reborn even earlier?_ _Voldemort… _Quirrell!

Why hadn't he thought about any of this stuff until now? He even saw Quirrell at The Leaky Cauldron. He could of told the Goblins that someone was planning a break in, or started making plans on how to deal with this problem. _Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! _

"STUPID!" he threw his book on the floor in a rage.

Harry practically fell out of his seat at the sudden outburst. "What was _that_?"

"Nothing," Dudley said defensively, turning to the window. "I just forgot something." The anger simmered under his skin. _Stupid, all this time acting the child! _He huffed through his nose, his nostrils flared. _You're a grown man!_

The apartment door slid open.

A little ginger-haired boy stumbled at the doorway. His eyes locked with Dudley's instantly, the boy freaked, his freckled face filled with a look of daunting, as he swallowed audibly.

"I-I-I-" Ron began. Dudley grunted in annoyance, and Harry shot him a look. "All the other compartments are full, can I-" he started again, but his voice wobbled at the end, and whatever he was trying to say was lost.

"Sure," Harry said cheerfully before Dudley could even decide whether or not to interject. Harry stood up and offered his chair to the redhead, and sat down next to Dudley.

Ron gave Harry a grateful grin and hurried into the compartment, but gave uncertain looks to Dudley as he sat across from him. Dudley ignored him, as he knew what was happening, and at that moment he really didn't care that much to correct it.

An awkward silence followed, and then from the unclosed door two other redheads bounced into view. Dudley let go of another disgruntled groan. How easy it was to see, and how had he missed it? The twins had dared Ron to go and sit with '_Harry Potter'_.

"Hey, Ron, listen-" one of the twins asked, and then caught Dudley staring at him. "What's his problem?"

Dudley opened his mouth. Harry, probably thinking Dudley was going to say something unpleasant, jumped in. "He left something at home, so he's a bit grouchy."

Ron let out a quiet sigh of relief.

"Grouchy." Dudley snorted. That was an understatement!

"Tough luck, buddy," the first twin one said. "Hey, Ron, Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula. Wanna come see it?"

"No!" Ron's face blushed red, and he turned to look out the window. "Thanks."

"Suit yourself. Are you really Harry Potter? I'm Fred-" not waiting for Harry's reply, instead moving Harry's fringe out the way to see the scar for conformation, he pointed a finger as if daring to reach out and touch it.

"Back off!" Dudley barked, on his feet before he even realized he'd moved. Fred quickly pulled his hand back like it'd been stung. Fred nodded over to his twin.

"This is George, and you've met Roninkins." George leaned over and tapped his brother on the head. "See you later." He smiled at Dudley, as he past him. And then they were gone like cracks from a whip when they reached the door.

"Bye!" Ron and Harry said together. Dudley, with gritted his teeth, closed the door.

"You don't have to do that every time, Dud." Harry combed his fringe with his fingers so that it coved his scar, which Ron was staring at open-mouthed. Dudley glared at him, and Ron's mouth shut with a snap. "They weren't going to do anything."

Dudley spun round. "Your scar is important, Harry! Just allowing anyone to touch it demeans both you and what it stands for. You shouldn't let anyone touch it."

"Oh yeah, and what does it stand for, Dud?" Harry got to his feet. "My parents being murdered, hav-

"That good will always triumph against evil!" Dudley yelled back. "That one person can make a difference." He pushed him with a finger, knocking Harry back into his chair. "Have you _seen_ the way these people look at you? You give them hope, you're a symbol." He pointed a finger at Ron who was watching them with a terrified interest, and who flinched. Harry scowled angrily at Dudley, his face hot as Dudley sat next to him. "You're important here, Harry…"

After a while, Ron's eyes came to rest on Harry's forehead again. Slowly but eagerly, he asked. "Can-can you remember any of it?"

Harry said all he could remember was a flash of green light, and then they talked about families.

"I heard you went to live with Muggles," Ron finally asked. "What were they like?"

Harry scowled at Dudley. "Horrible."

"Ouch." Dudley smiled bitterly to himself, slowly turning to look at the countryside. Ron looked from Harry to Dudley, and then back to Harry, as if he'd missed something.

Not dwelling on it, Ron began a rant about how many brothers he had, and how if he did anything amazing at school, he still wouldn't be as good as them… etc.

_Whinge, whinge, whinge… At least you had a family._ Dudley thought to himself.

He realised, as they passed a field packed with horses, he wasn't sure whether he was thinking about Harry or himself when he thought it. At that point in time, Ron pulled a grey rat from out of his jumper. Dudley's right eye twitched, as he glared at it.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl for being made prefect, but they couldn't aff…" Ron jabbered on, his ears going pink, oblivious to the death glare the rat was receiving.

"I never had much either," Harry replied. "I didn't even know that I had any money until Hagrid pick me up, and the Dursleys didn't even get me any new clothes. I had to wear Dudley's old ones." He paused and then glanced at Dudley. "He used to buy me sweets, and he got me this for my birthday." Harry leaned over to show Ron his watch. "Oh, it's stopped." He tapped his watch and brought it to his ear.

"Ron," Dudley inquired, his jaw locked shut with infuriation. Peter Pettigrew, mass murder, was right _there_, and he couldn't do a thing about it. He thought he might explode! Instead, his right eye twitched. "Put. It. Away." he hissed.

"Yeah," Ron, at once, took off his jumper and stuffed the rat inside and put it on the seat next to him, his ears and neck going scarlet with embarrassment. "Sure. Gone."

Dudley bellowed out a large sigh of annoyance. He looked up at Ron who quickly turned to look out the window; fear evident in his face. Dudley frowned, as he turned to look at Harry. He was glaring at him, as he listened to his watch.

Dudley looked out the window, and caught sight of his reflection looking back at him. He suddenly felt dreadfully ashamed of himself. _They're only kids, they have no idea... _He put his hand in front of his face and groaned. _Some man. _

"Thanks," Dudley said quietly to Ron, after a long, slow and awkward silence. "I have a thing…" he lied, "…a thing about rats. They…they creep me out. And-and…" He sighed apologetically, glancing to Harry and then back to Ron. "I'm just in a bad mood. Sorry." he said quickly.

"Oh…" Ron's ears went pink, and he looked somewhat taken aback. Then, after another awkward silence, he replied, "I know what you mean. I have this _thing,_ too, but with _spiders_." Ron whispered over to Dudley, sympathetically.

"Yep, it's broken. Maybe it can be fixed with magic." Harry dropped his watch from his ear and turned to Ron. He opened his mouth as if to ask him something, but the compartment door was opened, and a little old lady with a trolley interrupted him.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" No one got up, Ron shook his head and, embarrassed, turned to the window.

Dudley rolled his eyes and nudged Harry in the ribs. "Get something," he whispered so that Ron and the trolley lady couldn't hear.

"I'm not hungry, thanks. Still full from breakfast," Harry whispered spitefully back

"Not for me." He slightly tipped his head towards Ron.

"Why don't you get him something? It might make up for you acting like such a pri-"

"Rich boy, remember? Buy the food."

"I'm not whao-" Dudley had sunk his hand behind Harry's back and pushed him high off his seat so that he landed straight right in front of the trolley lady. The Lady fixed him with that kind shimmering stare that all old ladies somehow develop. "Err…"

8

The boys were all tucking into a large molehill of sweets and pastries on the empty seat next to Ron's jumper, when Neville came by looking for his toad. They all shook their heads, saying they hadn't seen it, and Dudley offered Neville a Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Bean, which they'd been daring each other to eat before he'd arrived.

Neville, being Neville, chose a grey one. Ate it whole, and then swiftly ran down the train, choking out something about "pepper" and "water". Harry, Ron, and even Dudley, could barely hear him over their own laugher. For a few minutes, he forgot about the dark clouds of responsibility that had begun to appear in his mind.

The compartment door slid open again. A lot of noise followed it. It was bossy and a tiny bit nasal, and ended with "Have you seen a toad? A boy called Neville lost one. Oh, have you seen him, too? I've lost him." The girl laughed a little too quickly.

Dudley observed the girl in the doorway feeling weird and pervy. Like a lot of male fans of Harry Potter, and particularly in Dudley's teenage years with the films offering Emma Watson as a blue print to fantasies, he had fancied Hermione Granger. But with the eleven-year-old uniformed girl in front of him, it made him feel a little bit sick.

"No," he muttered. "And yes. He went to the loo, I think." Harry stuffed a blue sweet in his mouth to stop himself from laughing, while Ron shook his head.

"Oh. Are you all right? You look a bit unwell. You must be excited. Muggleborn, too? I didn't even know I was a witch until I got my letter, and oh were we surprised, my mum and dad! Nobody in my family's magical at all. Have you learned any spells yet? I've learnt all our set books. Oh, what are you reading? I don't remember that on the list. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. Who are you?"

Hermione sat down next to Ron, narrowly avoiding the sweets and Ron's jumper, and talked wildly at them. She picked _Conquering The Mind_ off the floor, which was inspiring to watch, as the book was large and looked far too heavy for the small frumpy girl to lift. She opened it and then handed it to Dudley. "It looks very interesting," she said. "Can I borrow it?"

"Err? Well, I'm still sort-of reading it. I'm Dudley." He greenly held out his hand, not quite sure how to introduce himself, but Hermione took it without hesitation, and shook it thoroughly. Letting it go, she then took Harry's, who'd followed Dudley's example.

"I'm Harry, me and Dudley know a few spells. Well, actually Dudley can do loads. We've both read the set list, too… Well, Dudley made me." Harry grinned, then pointed at Ron, who was frowning and looking like he'd been left out. "That's Ron. All his family are magic, so he probably knows loads of spells."

"What's up with you?" Dudley accused, raising an eyebrow at Harry. "You're all…'hyper.'"

"Nothing," Harry said, overly quickly. "I'm just excited. Look." Harry, grinning at Hermione, took his glasses off and snapped them, pulled his wand from his belt-loop and pointed at them on his lap. "_Oculus Reparo_." The glasses fixed together instantly, and Harry put them back on his face. "Ta-da!"

"Goodness," Hermione exclaimed. "I've leant that spell, too, of course. I can do almost all the point spells from Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1. What house do you think you'll be in? I think I'll be in Gryffindor." Hermione and Harry went on and on, and on. Ron leaned his head on the window, looking like he was counting the trees, and finding it more interesting.

Dudley's brow lowered and deepened, as Harry and Hermione talked rapidly at each other. He smiled and answered politely any questions Hermione asked him. But in his head he questioned, _what the hell's wrong with Harry?_

"Oh well, I've got to go. I can see Neville now, I almost completely forgot about him. Goodbye, I hope I see you again." Hermione shook all their hands and disappeared out the compartment so fast that Dudley could swear he felt wind.

"Same!" Harry waved, ginning at her as she closed the door and left. His face suddenly dropped and he groaned, rubbing his head. Dudley turned to him.

"Okay, what was that?"

"I think it was one of these." Harry held up a blue sweet, his eyes closed and his head in his hands, looking almost hung-over.

"Oh, that's a Jib-a-jaber." Ron reached out grabbed it, throwing it out the window. "George gave me them, they must have been in my jumper. You shouldn't trust anything you get from them." Ron quickly added when the two of them looked at him (Harry through his fingers), "I don't think they're harmful. They're not that stupid."

Again the compartment door opened and three boys entered the small space.

"Is it true?" the smallest pale boy ordered, as he gazed around the compartment from under his nose. He had bright blonde hair and a pretty face. Pretty as it was too feminine to be handsome, in Dudley's opinion.

"Yes," he interrupted, as he thumbed over to Harry. "Over there." Dudley measured himself up against the other boys. _They weren't so big,_ he thought. He'd boxed bigger. The boys would seem massive to Harry though, who was still pretty small for his age.

"So it's you, is it?" Draco smirked thinly, as he followed Dudley's thumb and looked at Harry.

"Yes," Harry groaned, looking up at Draco, still seeing the world between his fingers. He then slowly looked at the two thickset boys that came in with him. He moved his hands away from his face.

"Oh, this is Crabbe, and this is Goyle," Draco said carelessly, pointing out the mean looking boys behind him, "and my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.

As he said his name, Dudley leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear. "Bond, James Bond."

Harry sat up straighter, trying to smother a laugh. It was covered by Ron's snigger, however, which had caught the blonde boy's attention. Dudley watched with anticipation.

"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all about the Weasleys, with your red hair, freckles, and more children than you can afford. You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort." And there it was, the famous Draco Malfoy hand, offered to Harry. "I can help you there."

A small part of Dudley wanted to nudge Harry to take it, just to see what would happen. But from the look on Harry's face, it would take much more than a simple nudge.

A satisfied thrill ran through Dudley's mind, as a thought circled in his head. If Dudley knew anything about Harry at all, then if Harry took Draco's hand he would probably have been dragged off to another part of the train, where he would only be further disgusted by the boy's views.

He smiled. The thought lay down to rest a small part of his old life. He, and he knew many others, wondered what would have happened if Harry had shook Draco's hand that day (_this day?),_ and now Dudley undoubtedly knew. He felt…privileged.

"I think I can tell the difference myself, thanks," Harry said coolly, and smirked over to Dudley. "What do you think?"

"Oh, I think you're capable." He grinned back, hiding his surprise and smiling at Draco whose cheeks were tinged with pink.

"I'd be careful if I was you, Potter. Or you'll end up like your per…" Dudley stood up at once, cutting Draco off. He stood so close to Draco that the boy was now eye-to-eye with Dudley's chest. He pushed the boy backward.

"You should walk away, now," he warned, looking down at Draco, who just realised Dudley was the tallest in the compartment, beating Crabbe by an inch. He said flatly, as if stating a fact, "Go now."

"Crabbe, Goyle!" Draco commanded, enraged. Crabbe and Goyle stepped forward and glared at Dudley. Their mean faces were now set to threatening. Dudley stared back at the two large mean looking boys and snorted. No one moved.

"You're out numbered."

Dudley cracked his neck to one side and then to the other. Crabbe and Goyle's eyes flickered to Harry and Ron, whom had gotten to their feet at this point and had unintentionally flanked them.

"You're out-classed." Dudley smiled, as he cracked his knuckles. Crabbe eyes met with Goyle's. "And you have no idea how much I want to _hit_ something today."

Crabbe and Dudley glared at each other. He grinned and licked his top lip, confident he could take them, or at least one of them. Harry and Ron could take the other.

Crabbe slowly grunted at Goyle, and moved backwards out the cabin. Goyle, looking slightly confused, followed. Draco's eyes widened, and his face drained of what little colour it had, as he, too, quickly exited.

"You'd better watch your back, whoever you argh!" Draco slammed the compartment door and ran to his deserted henchmen, as Dudley faked a charge.

"And that's the end of that chapter." Dudley clapped his hands, as if to clear dust off them, and then pretended to throw it over his shoulder.

He had not been a fan of Draco, although he had felt empathy for him during the last couple of books, as it was hard not to, but if _anyone _talked to him or Harry like _that_…he wasn't going to stand for it. He had allowed bullying to take over his life once, so he wasn't about to let it happen again.

"That was…"Ron looked up at him, grinning and nodding his head with his eyes closed. "…Brilliant!"

Harry snorted and clasped Dudley on the back. "You should see him in the ring."

"What ring?"

"Boxing ring," Dudley explained helpfully.

"What's boxing?"

"What?" Harry and Dudley looked at him, dumbfounded. "It's the best thing in the world!" And they were off…

Dudley's favour to the sport was that he was good at it, great at it, and he'd never been good at any sport in his old life, as he hated them all, but having a sport you were a natural at made _all _the difference. Harry never played it, but he was a good spectator.

Harry liked it at first only because it was the only time he got to watch Dudley getting beaten up. He'd told Dudley as much during a magic session, but it was now a mutual sport that they both enjoyed, sometimes watching fights together in Harry's room.

After Dudley and Harry finished explaining Boxing, Ron began explaining his favourite sport, Quidditch. By the time he was finished, Hermione had popped her head around the corner and told them it was time to get ready.

The three boys, and Hermione, sat together during the boat ride, and Dudley couldn't agree more that the boat ride to the castle was anything less than the perfect way to be introduced to Hogwarts.

Dudley had seen castles before (he lived in England, so how could he not?), but the gothic beauty of the castle was astounding. Light poured out of every window in the long spiralling towers that penetrated the night sky.

The beauty was only magnified by its reflection on the black lake. Even at a glance, he knew that some parts of the school were too impossible to have been built from anything but magic.

The experience was ruined slightly by Draco's loud posturing, as he shouted at Crabbe and Goyle. "Wait until I tell my Father about your betrayal…" Hagrid had to tell him to be quiet, as they reached the castle, where they were handed over to Professor McGonagall.

8

Professor McGonagall was as every bit as strict looking as Dudley had imagined her to be. Her eyes were sharp, as were her rectangular glasses. She led them through the castle and into a small chamber, explaining what was going to happen.

He had his eyes closed the whole time she spoke, trying to quieten his thoughts and empty his mind. His nerves were getting to him, as they were for all the people in the chamber, making it harder to focus.

"How do you think they sort us?" Harry asked nervously to no one in particular.

"A hat," Dudley said without thinking, not realising want he'd said, or that he had said anything at all. The well-known drawback about having a clear mind is that it loosens your tongue.

"Ho-" Harry's was interrupted by Ron.

"A Hat? I'm gonna kill Fred and George! They told me I'd have to fight a troll."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice, breaking Dudley's concentration. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to begin. Now form a line and follow me." They followed Professor McGonagall into the Great Hall, where they were made to face the entire school.

Harry, Hermione and Neville stood at his right, with Ron stood at his left. They all looked at the ceiling. It was wondrous. Dudley made a note in his mind to find how out to do it; it would look splendid in his bedroom. He slowly turned around, as McGonagall put a four-legged chair in front of them all.

At the head table, he marked out immediately an old face with a long white beard that could only be one person…Dumbledore.

The old wizard must have sensed Dudley staring, because he turned and smiled at him, nodding to Dudley in the direction of the hat, which McGonagall had just placed on the chair. Dudley turned and closed his eyes, clearing his mind.

'_Oh, you may not think I'm pretty…'_

Dudley unknowingly mouthed the line, but quickly managed to stop himself, and instead listened as the Sorting Hat's croaky voice sang on.

When it finished, applause burst out around the Hall. McGonagall then called out. "Abbott, Hannah!"

Dudley stood up straight then and began breathing more deeply, trying to control his mind. His heart was beating like jungle drums under his robes. Dark '_what ifs?'_ kept creeping into his mind.

"Crabbe_,_ Vincent!"

Dudley sucked in an extra large breath. If he were right, then he would be next. _Deep breaths, quiet thoughts. Deep breaths, quiet thoughts._ He repeated silently to the beating of his heart.

"Dursley, Dudley!"

He was still zoning out when his name was called, so Harry had to push him towards the hat. Dudley grudgingly, his face the picture of calm, sat down on the four-legged chair. Everything went dark, as the hat fell over his eyes.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? Hmmm…" Dudley heard a small soft voice by his ear, and felt a strange tingle in the front of his head. His eyes widened.

"Smart yes, very creative…Hmmm."

He tried to clear his mind, but the tingling quaked through his head regardless.

"Ah. Ah. Ah. That won't work on me, boy. It is not your memories I'm seeking," the Hat whispered in its soft voice. "So much fear and confusion. Oh yes, anger, too. You have secrets…and an…odd mind. Tricky. Formidable in talent, I see…hmmm. Not so difficult. Perhaps you belong in…"

"Put me in Gryffindor!" Dudley panicked. The hat went silent, and then slowly it's soft voice returned.

"Gryffindor? Is that where you ort to be, hmm?"

"It is where I _need_ to be," he stressed, his heart hammering so hard and fast that his chest was almost heaving.

"Huh, very well. We shall see how well you do in GRYFFINDOR!" The last bit was shouted out into the hall.

"Thank you," Dudley whispered quickly before the hat was pulled from his head.

He paused, took in and swallowed a large gulp of air, before standing up and steadily walking over to the Gryffindor table, where people were clapping him. A redheaded boy, he assumed was Percy Weasley, shook his hand, as did three others.

He sat next to Percy, and across from the only other first year Gryffindor, Lavender Brown_._ He reached across the table and held out his hand. "Dudley Dursley."

She stared at the hand. At first, he thought she might refuse it, but perhaps it took longer to reach her brain. Eventually, she took his hand and squeezed it flimsily. "Lavender Brown."

"Shhhh, we talk after the Sorting," Percy said, right next to Dudley's ear. The two first years just looked at the prefect and frowned, but said nothing.

Dudley watched Harry, who looked frightened. Dudley managed to catch his eye and give him a smile and a thumbs-up. _If Harry doesn't get sorted into Gryffindor_… The terrible thought hissed in his head like an out of tune choir.

"Do you know him?"

He turned to Lavender. "Yes," he said simply, turning back to look at Harry. "He's my cousin."

"Shhhh!" Percy put his finger to his lip this time, making Dudley cringe.

It wasn't long until the other first year Gryffindors joined them. Hermione sat next to him, while Neville sat next to her. Seamus sat on Lavender's side, but she was now sitting with some of the other first year girls, and ignored him. Dudley shook every hand and intruded himself, Percy 'shh-ing' him every time. It was really starting to get on his nerves.

"Potter, Harry!" McGonagall called out.

Whispers broke out across the hall, and Percy, of course, 'shh-ed' those on the Gryffindor table. Dudley saw Hermione eyebrows rise, as Harry stepped forward; she then crossed her fingers under the table. Dudley did the same.

"Whisper, Whisper, Whisper," Fred and George said, annoying their brother, but they too became very silent, as Harry sat down on the stool. From the moment the hat was placed on Harry's head, time seemed to move sluggishly.

Dudley spared glances at the teacher's table in an attempt to distract himself. They were all concealing their stares, some choosing to look at the ceiling, while others chose to instead blank their faces.

Such as the tall thin-looking man caped in black, with a nose so hooked that from some angles it almost touched his lips. Severus Snape, a man you could love, hate and argue over until the cows come home.

Seeing Severus in the flesh made it easy to see why Harry never trusted him. _He certainly looks malevolent_, Dudley thought. He never much liked James Potter in the books, and after learning all that Severus did out of love for Lily, how could he not respect the guy? Lily so should have chosen Snape.

Dudley closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn't think like that here, as these were real people now. A fact easily, and many times, forgotten. Although perhaps at some point he could find out how the Potters finally hooked up. Surely that was harmless?

Snape turned, and Dudley quickly switched his stare to the man next to him, but unfortunately it was Quirrell. Dudley tightened his jaw and looked back to Harry just in time to see the hat shout out: -

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Everyone on the Gryffindor table erupted into applause. People stood up and bounced on the benches, clapping, yelling and hooting, as Harry walked shakily towards the table. As he passed, some took his hands and shook them vigorously. Harry sat opposite Dudley, with Seamus at his side.

"Well done, Harry." Hermione said, and then she squeaked. "You didn't tell me you were Harry Potter! I've read all about you, you know. You're not at all like I imagined you'd be." Percy 'shh-ed' her, making Dudley twitch.

Dean sat next to Seamus, and then one more person, and then it was Ron's turn. "Weasley, Ronald!"

Dudley reached across and intruded himself to Dean quickly.

"Shhhh-woo!" As Percy leaned in to try and get to Dudley's ear, something dreadful happened. As Percy swooped forward, Dudley's elbow came back. The result was a satisfying thud into Percy's face.

Maybe if Dudley had been the same weight and height of the other first years (minus Crabbe and Goyle), Percy might have been able to stable himself and sit down on the bench, rubbing his nose. Unfortunately, things were not so.

Percy Weasley fell backwards off the Gryffindor bench, and the Hall erupted with laughter. It was the last horrifying thing Ronald Weasley saw before the Sorting Hat engulfed his head. Over the laughter, the Sorting Hat called out Gryffindor, and Ron, the deepest shade of red Dudley had ever seen on a person, sat next to Harry.

8

The feast felt like a blur, everything happening as it had before, and other than moving his food around his gold plate, he hadn't been very involved in it. Harry gave him 'the nod' a couple of times to check if he was alright, but Dudley wouldn't have been able to tell him if he was or not, because he didn't know.

His thoughts, fears and questions drifted around him that night like smoke. It made Dudley feel tired, and not just the sleepy kind. He lay awake in bed that night, staring up at the red tent of velvet that capped his king-sized bed, his curtains drawn.

Today had been too much. It was like coming home and finding that someone had broken in, and without stealing anything, moved all your furniture around. He had so much information, and he had no way to use any of it…or he couldn't think of a way. He wished he could read the books now, just to get some idea of what to do next.

Dudley closed his eyes. He needed to sleep, he snorted. It's a school night.

"Dudley?" someone whispered. He sat up and gazed into the blackness. "Are you still awake?"

"Harry?" Moonlight flooded Dudley's bed, as the parting in his curtains opened to reveal Harry in his dressing gown. He crawled onto the end of Dudley's bed and sat crossed-legged, letting the curtains fall shut behind him. Silence and darkness followed, and Dudley cocked his head to the side, listening to the other four boys, making sure they were asleep. Perhaps Harry was doing the same.

"Harry?" "Dud?" they both started, so Dudley waited for Harry.

"Dud, are you okay?"

Dudley stared at the dark place where he could feel Harry's weight. Harry must have sensed his hesitation. "It's just that you've been a bit weird… Well, _weirder_." Harry joked. "All day."

_Wow_, Dudley thought to himself, surprised. Harry cared. "Yeah, I. I just-um- I don't know." He shrugged to the darkness, as it was the truth. "Maybe I'm just nervous, Harry. New school, new friends, you know…all that stuff."

Harry didn't say anything for a while; and Dudley thought he might have fallen asleep at one point.

"How'd you know it was a hat?"

"Huh, what?" He frowned. What was Harry talking abou…? Dudley's eyes widened. Oh no!

"The Sorting Hat. When I asked, you knew it was a hat. How?"

"I…" Think Dudley! "…I heard one of the older students talking about it when we were getting on the train." That would work. "He said he 'hated waiting for the first years to be sorted by the Sorting Hat'. I just assumed…"

"Oh… How'd you know what it was going to say though?"

"Err…"

"No! I don't want to eat a badger…"

BANG!

Both Harry and Dudley turned left and at once threw opened the bed curtains. In the moonlit room, they could just make out Ron on the floor, looking as if he was having a dream of some sort, and had rolled off his bed.

That didn't happen in the books. Harry and Dudley watched, as the half-asleep Weasley stood up and rolled back into bed. Harry went straight to bed, didn't he? But didn't he have a dream about… Wait! That was it!

Harry turned back to Dudley, expectedly, his features and curiosity highlighted by the pale light that filled the dorm. Dudley leaned in close to Harry and, as if about to reveal a great secret, whispered in Harry's ear. "I dream, Harry. And sometimes…they come true."

"What?" Harry reared back, looking sceptically at Dudley. "Are you saying you can 'dream the future'?" Harry sarcastically air quoted.

"I…wanted to tell you. I just wasn't sure how." Dudley looked down at the wooden floor, pretending to be upset. He sniffed, looking away. "Think about it, Harry." He then turned and stared Harry in the face. "Think-about-it."

Harry stared back at Dudley from the side of the bed, not looking particularly convinced. Then his eyes grew big and he jumped to his feet, as he started pacing, his fist to his chin.

"Gringotts! You knew about it, didn't you? And that Hagrid was coming…" It didn't sound like a question, but Dudley nodded his head. In truth, he had completely forgotten about the Shack-On-The-Rock. "…_and _you knew where to go in The Leaky Cauldron…" He hadn't, as that had been a lucky guess. "I… Oh my…" Harry spun on his heels and looked at Dudley the same way he looked at the Sorting Hat. "Dudley, you can dream the future!"

"Shhhh, Harry!" He stood up quickly and put his hands on Harry's shoulders, and bent down a little so that he could look Harry in the face. From where Harry was standing, the moon reflected completely on his glasses, and it was like staring at Ollivander the wand maker. "You can't tell anyone. Promise me, Harry. Promise me you won't tell."

"I promise, Dudley." Harry nodded slowly and then, looking back at Dudley, the most sincere Dudley had ever seen him look before, he said again. "I Promise."

Dudley pulled Harry into a hug and squeezed him tight. From behind Harry's back, however, he smirked victoriously. This was probably the best and most useful lie he had ever told.


	7. Hidden things

Big Thanks to Beta Storyseeker.

**Finding Hidden Things**

"Why does everything in this blasted castle move?" Dudley stormed up another staircase, huffing and puffing as it swept across to the opposite doorway that he'd been aiming for. Fortunately, it was sticking to the seventh floor this time.

Who knew it could be so hard to get to the seventh floor? Four staircases had changed, as he stood on them on the way up, some lowering him down to the fifth floor. It was almost as if they were trying to deter him.

It was the fourth day of school, and Dudley had only just managed to lose not just Harry, but the entire first year group of Gryffindors. They _all_ followed him to classes, just because by fluke he'd found their first couple of classrooms without getting lost, or turning up too late.

Actually, it was a little more than a fluke. After waking up earlier than any of the other first years, he had wandered to the common room were he met Nearly-Headless Nick, or Sir Nicholas as he called him, who was a tremendous help. Plus, he had always had a mind for maps, or pretty much anything visual really, which had been really helpful in his old life, as it was a skill that was key when engineering. That often meant trying to visualise hundreds of components working at once.

He now had a little growing reputation as knowing 'where _everything_ in the castle is', which was, of course, totally untrue, but he couldn't deny it because Harry thought this was further proof of him being able to 'Dream The Future'.

"Finally!" He jumped off the end of the staircase before it decided it wanted to visit the sixth floor again. "Ready or not…" Looking around, checking for his_ other _followers, and then, once he was convinced he was alone, headed down the stone corridor. "…Here I come."

Dudley walked the seventh floor, or a side of it. A thing about the school, and trying to find your way around it, was that every floor seemed to have at the very least six areas to them, and it wasn't like there was much to tell them apart with.

The paintings move, the doors not only moved but disappear, the corridors that led to classes move, some apparently changed directions daily according to Sir Nicholas, the suits of armour move, and even some of the statues move. The walls were mark-resistant (and could repair themselves if given time) so you couldn't even tell whether you'd been walking in circles or not.

Dudley couldn't blame the first years for sticking to him like glue, although it had also crossed his mind that they might also be doing so, so they could get a good look at Harry Potter, or, as they called him, 'the boy in the glasses next to the fat kid and the ginger', because Ron stuck around them like a bad smell. But Harry seemed to like him, so Dudley tolerated him…at least for now.

One thing, however, that did stay stationary were the tapestries, and it was this that allowed Dudley to find his way around. He was looking for a particularly tapestry right now in fact, one with trolls attempting a ballet. It took him close to an hour for him to find it.

Dudley placed his hand on the great heavy stonewall across from the daft tapestry of the skinny wizard and the grey skinned trolls in tutus. A large smirk grew on his lips. If he was right, and he was pretty certain he was, then the Room Of Requirement should be right there.

"You and I are going to do wonders," he whispered to the stones, his imagination trembled to life with the possibilities. _But, first things firs_t, he thought. He took his hand away from the stone and began pacing in front of it. _A place to practise magic. _He repeated, as he paced.

For a school that teaches magic, Hogwarts had hardly any areas in which you could practise doing it. He'd already been warned four times now about doing magic in 'non-casting zones' by passing teachers. However, you were allowed to duel on the field at noon, a left over rule from a darker time, according to _Hogwarts, A History_.

Particularly for first years, since most of the school clubs and groups that did involve magic, as there was a ridiculous amount of clubs centred on non-magical activities, were for second years and above only. When it came to first years, who were obviously the ones that most needed to practise in his opinion, they weren't allowed. It was frustratingly paradoxical.

Sure enough, after the third pace, a dark door, exactly Dudley's size, materialized before him. Dudley's smirk grew larger, as he reached out to it.

"Dursley!"

Dudley almost jumped out of his skin. His hand, which he had reached out, he slammed to his chest as if his heart was about break through. "Percy? You scared the sh…"

"What are you doing here, Dursley?" Percy Weasley, his _other _follower. _More like my shadow,_ Dudley thought, irritatingly_._ Percy swooped down from the right end of the left corridor, holding onto his glasses so that they wouldn't fall off his face.

"My name's Dudley, Percy." He spared a glance at the wall. The door had gone, and a knot released inside him. It must be a Wizarding thing to call people by their last name, since everyone seemed to do it, even the Professors. _Perhaps it has something to do with knowing someone's 'Blood Status', _Dudley considered, as he watched Percy coming forward with his arms crossed.

Percy stopped in front of him so sharply that a squeak came from his shoes, and he pulled himself to his full height. "You should be in the Great Hall with everyone else."

"Says who?" Dudley raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty certain lunchtimes count as free times, Percy."

"I am a Prefect, and…" Percy face went pink, and he sucked in his lips, as Dudley rolled his eyes. "…And it is my job to make sure students get to classes on time."

"Is that so? Well…" Dudley walked past him and gazed openly at Percy's watch. "You work on that, Percy. I have Transfiguration in…ooh, about an hour." He patted Percy on the shoulder as he passed. "I think I'm okay for time."

He'd have to try getting to the Room later.

8

As Dudley stepped into the hall, he was wildly waved over by Harry and Ron, their eyes large with that look about them that said '_we've been doing something that we shouldn't have'_. Before Dudley had even sat down, Ron grabbed him by the arm and whispered loudly in his ear.

"There's a giant dog on the third floor."

"What?" Dudley turned so quickly his cheeks walloped Ron's.

Rubbing the side of his face, Ron carried on. "We were trying to find where McGonagall's classroom was, cause we couldn't find you, but the one we thought it might be was locked so…"

"So I opened it." Harry lifted his wand, spinning it with his thumb. "And there's a giant three-headed dog inside just, just staring at us!"

"I've never run so fast in my life. We thought we was gonna die by the time we got back here." Ron collapsed on the table dramatically, pretending to be dead. Harry and Ron laughed, but Dudley didn't.

"But…" Dudley hesitated, realizing he had nothing really to say. _Harry's found Fluffy, okay. It was early than he should have, but from the look of things he doesn't really think much of it._

"Well…you two have certainly had an adventure." Dudley smiled, picking up a chicken drumstick and taking a bite out of it. "But now, back to work, and stay sharp. We've got McGonagall."

Ron groaned, something he did a lot whenever the word 'work' was uttered. Harry looked straight at Dudley, and then slowly frowned.

8

"You knew," Harry whispered, as McGonagall gave out matchsticks.

"Knew what?" Dudley asked whilst reading through the relevant article again in his borrowed tattered textbook.

Transfiguration looked incredibly difficult, but if he had understood the professor correctly, then it wasn't so much that they were changing a matchstick into a needle, it was more like changing wood into metal, and then making it pointy at one end and loopy at the other.

It was still a matchstick, though, underneath it all, like using a fork to hold open a window didn't make it any less of a fork._ Ah, student life, it_ _teaches so much,_ Dudley thought with a smile, as he regarded the matchstick.

"About the three-headed _D-O-G_," Harry hissed, getting out his wand and pointing it at the book.

"Oh, that." Dudley pulled out his wand also and rested the tip on the dotted follow-me line in the book. "I didn't know, Harry. The dreams don't always make sense or follow a liner timeline, and I had the one about the dog aaaages ago."

"So you saw it in a dream then." Harry looked at him unsurely. Dudley pointed his wand at the match. "You should have told me, Dud. You shouldn't have lied"

"I didn't lie, because you never asked," Dudley said, his mouth clamping shut.

"You still should have said."

"How could I? I didn't know it was real." Dudley dropped his wand and turned on Harry, and Harry turned to him.

"You _did _know, though. That's the point, Dudley!" Before any harsher words could be spoken, Professor McGonagall glided over

"What is going on here?" she said, as she looked at the two boys sternly.

"Nothing, Professor." Dudley and Harry choired quietly, looking down and avoiding eye contact with the woman.

"I should hope not. Mr Dursley, you seem to have dropped your wand." He huffed and picked up the wooden rod. "Hmm, perhaps you both can allow me a demonstration, Mr Dursley."

He licked the back of his teeth in annoyance. "Of course, Professor."

8

"Percy, leave me alone!" Percy was standing in front of the porthole, blocking his way, and he'd had enough of Percy's presence.

"You're up to something, Dursley." Percy's eyes drifted for a second to Fred and George, who were watching them with identical grins over the top of the red Gryffindor sofa by the fireplace, before Percy's eyes then focused pointedly at Dudley. "I have experience, and I can tell."

"Oh yeah, and what exactly would it be that I'm up to?" Dudley may have been younger and smaller than Percy, only just reaching his neck, but he stood a lot taller and straighter.

Percy pushed up his glasses on his nose. "I don't know yet."

"That because I'm not up to anything, now let me pass."

"Where are you going?"

"To the library." Dudley push past, but Percy took hold of Dudley's shoulder and turned him.

"Oh good. Because I'm going there, too."

Dudley smacked Percy's arm off his shoulder immediately and grabbed two fistfuls of robes, dragging the redhead down to eye level. Hush filled the common room, as more people became interested in the two.

"If you follow me, Percy, I swear to Merlin I'll..."

"You'll what? I'm still a prefect, Dursley. To threaten me has the same consequence of threatening a Professor." Percy smirked, a particularly unfavourable look for his complexion, as he gently rested his hands on Dudley's arms. "Which is expulsion, in case you didn't know."

Dudley glared into Percy's eyes with the same hatred he'd held for those who had blemished his old life with misery. He pulled Percy close and then expelled him with force, throwing him backwards, and took off out of the common room.

8

Dudley found the Room of Requirement so fast that he barely remembered entering it. Yet there he was, surrounded on either side by four parallel mahogany desks that lined a room no bigger than a small classroom.

Each desk held different equipment. One had telescopes and scales pointing the wrong way up, its brother holding candles on the end of sticks. Scrap metal completely covered one desk, while books and paper drowned its opposite.

"Eh…?" Dudley slowed, his fingers trailing along the desks, leaving long lines in the thick dust. He hadn't thought of any of this when he ran into the room, and yet it felt so familiar.

He walked the last couple of yards to the end of the room where a shallow fireplace, only three inches into the wall, too small a space to actually light a fire physically, somehow blazed flat against the wall. He felt the heat on his palm, as he turned around, flexing his fingers.

"This is just like…" he whispered, but the rest wouldn't come. His eyes drifted around the desks again. He was missing something, something really obvious. He stepped over to the desks with the down-turned telescopes. His tongue pushed through his lips and his brow creased deeply, and almost without any conscious thought he leaned over and placed his eye onto the scope.

"_Nicholas-!"_ Dudley flew backwards into the desk behind.

His lungs strained, a breath caught in his chest. His heart skipped beats and his stomach fluttered like butterflies. Steadily, a great sigh escaped him, as he licked his rapidly drying lips, a smile beginning to grow. He remembered. He practically lived here; in fact this was his home.

He stared around the Room Of Requirement with fresh eyes; his smile grew into a grin, an image clouded over the physical of the room. The upside-down brass telescopes turned to white microscopes, the wooden desks turned to metal and white plastic, the scrap metal turned into circuit boards, the candles on sticks became torches and soldering guns, and the shallow fire turned into a radiator. The paper stayed more or less the same, but its information changed from text to diagrams and blue prints.

"This is my…oh." He blustered into laugher. This was where he used to work, and the room faded back to its first attempt. "Awww, how could I forget about you?" He ran over to the desk overflowing with paper.

"Ah, ouch!" He threw his hand to his nose, his eyes opening wide as a sharp pain stung in front his head. As he pulled it away, a small pool of blood lay in his palm. He looked at it curiously, and then wiped it on a blank piece of parchment.

"Well, that's…hello?" He dropped the parchment and pulled out a book from under a pile of paper. Dudley raised an eyebrow. "Now that's interesting."

8

"Where were you last night?" was Hermione's greeting to Dudley the next morning, and he rolled his eyes. "I know you weren't in your dorm because I overheard Seamus asking Dean where you were. So where were you? You know if Professor McGonagall finds out, you will lose Gryffindor house hundreds of points, or you could be suspended, or worse, expelled completely, and just wait until…"

"Merlin girl! Give the boy a break." Two gangly redheaded twins sat by the side of Hermione. "Me and Fred hang out all night, all the time." The one on her left said.

"You do not!" Hermione squeaked in disbelief, wide-eyeing the older boys, perhaps in the hope that they were just joshing her, but their faces gave nothing away. "Well… I'll see you in potions, Dudley." She stood up sharply, her cheeks lightly pinked, and stormed out the Great Hall.

"So…" Fred started, grinning as they both leaned forward across the table to the half-tired Dudley. "Where were you?"

"We-know-you-weren't-in-the-castle." his brother added in a singsong voice, grinning ear to ear. _Not in the castle?_ Dudley frowned, and the twins, of course, grinned further at his puzzlement.

_Oh yeah, duh, the map_, he realised, smiling. He leaned forward_._ "Why would you care?"

"Why would we care? George, you hear this, why do we care? Obviously, we are greatly worried that our fellow house member…"

"Particularly one that drives Percy so crazy! Oliver Wood says he won't shut up about you. Gasp, Fred perhaps our big brother is in love."

Dudley's frown somehow found itself back on his face, as the twins exploded into fits of laugher. He took this time, and then, like Hermione, left for potions.


	8. Today is a good day

Big Thanks to Beta Storyseeker.

**Today Was A Good Day!**

It wasn't difficult to see the gloomy classroom as a dungeon, since it was technically a dungeon back when the school was first built. The 'dungeon' was where the wizards of the day would experiment on magical creatures, mostly breeding them to see what they could make. After Slytherin left, they were turned into the Potions classrooms, and all the creatures were set free.

_Well, more like dumped into the forest after carving off anything of use,_ Dudley thought, as he explored the shelves of the room with his bagged and heavy eyes. _I'm never staying up that late again_. The leather-bound book floated through his mind, and an exciting chill tingled his fingertips, and he knew it was an empty self-promise.

Dudley eventually sat by Hermione, the only other student in the dimly lit classroom. He ended up watching groggily, as Hermione laid her textbook, wand, four pages of parchment and a quill (ready and inked) tidily in front of her. She caught him watching.

"You should get ready as well. It's not long until the lesson begins." she announced, not once looking in his direction.

"An hour, Hermione." She gave him a questionable look. "I read Percy's watch while coming out the hall. If he persists on following me, I might as well use him for something." He shrugged, while Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled her textbook towards her, lifting and holding her wand loosely in her right hand.

"Well, you might as well use the time to study some more. I've already read it twice, of course, but it always helps to…"

"Yeah, yeah. I get it," he said, waving a hand as he stood up. "I haven't got the book though." He forgot to grab one before he left the Room of Requirement, though he could probably make it back up and down before the lesson started if he ran.

"Don't the Professors have spares?" Hermione mentioned, not looking from her book, but turning her head slightly in his direction. "Isn't that what you usually do?"

"…Good point." Dudley's eyebrows rose and fell, as his eyes landed on a cupboard at the back of the classroom, a very probable place for old schoolbooks to end up. A spark crackled in his sleep-deprived mind, and a small smile thinned his lips. "Thanks."

The books weren't in the cupboard, but they were in the one next to it. At first glance, there were around fifty different textbooks for every year group, but twelve, however, were virtually unreadable due to scorch marks, spilled ink, continually running ink (which flooded the bottom row), and one looked as if it had been half melted.

He flipped through each one desperately, an hour no longer seemed that long of a time span, and it didn't help that most of the books were facing the wrong way. _Why can't anyone put things away properly? Merlin's sake, it's like Harry's room._

He frustratingly pulled out a wedged book from the fourth shelve. As he did, a pink light flew over his head, and the shelf above caved in, causing several books to tumble down from the out-of-reach shelves above.

Each book, somehow, managed to hit him somewhere on his large frame, but that was nothing compared to the mountains of dust that came with them, covering him in the grey powder.

"Dudley!" Hermione came rushing over, and helped him up, trying to knock off the dust off his shoulder, and then his arm as he stood up, because she could no longer reach. "Are you alright? I'm so sorry, it just…just slipped out." Her eyes were wide.

He spat out some of the dust, and waved a hand in front of his face, trying to disperse that which still floated in the air around them. "That was you?" he said, looking down at her with disbelief before… "Whoa, Hermione, be careful with tha…AHH, my eye!" Dudley turned away holding his right eye.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Hermione, in an attempt to brush dust off his chest, forgot she was still holding her wand. "I didn't mean to!" she said, apologising frantically.

"I know, I know." He held out a hand to distance her from him. His one good eye caught sight of one of the fallen books, which had landed open. 'Light In A Bottle' the chapter said in swirly letters, and he groaned internally. Wait… In scribbled notes within brackets _(faster brewed with crushed fairy wing)._ His eyes flashed.

"Err, Hermione," he squeaked, as he swung around, almost knocking her off her feet. "I think I –err- need to-umm…go to the hospital thing-wing-thing, could you get that book for me?" Dudley pointed to a shelf randomly. Hermione set to work at once, blushing and looking rather guilty.

As her back was turned, he grabbed all the fallen books, hurriedly checking them through while jamming them into his robes. Finding a space for seven books in a first year's robes wasn't easy.

"DON'T TELL SNAPE!" he belted out, as he sprinted out the classroom. He was gone before Hermione could even turn around or look up.

He passed Harry, Ron and some other first years, as he ran up the steps away from the dungeon. He didn't stop or even slow down when they asked what was wrong.

He powered up past Quirrel, as he mumbled to a student on the fourth staircase. He needed to get to the Room Of Requirement now! There was something there he needed…and then he would need a shower, as he was itching all over.

8

"-dunderheads as I usually have to teach_. _Dursley!"

"Bloody hell!" Dudley jumped, grabbing his chest. Several people laughed, Harry and Ron among them. He hadn't seen the tall thin man, clad in black, hiding in the shadows as he re-entered the classroom.

"So good of you to finally join us." Snape glided in front of Dudley. "I was just about to give Potter here a little quiz." Dudley thought Harry seemed totally unaware of this, seeing as he was sinking silently in his chair. "But perhaps it's you who I should be asking? Seeing as you believe that you can turn up to my lessons whenever-you-like."

Dudley didn't have to look at Snape to know that the man was glaring. Under different circumstances, he would have kicked up a fuss, but he was tired and…well, technically he was in the wrong, as he was late.

Draco and the other Slytherins sniggered quietly. Snape had turned his full gaze on him, so he huffed, rolling his eyes over to where Neville, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting. Hermione seemed to have saved a space for him between her and Ron, or Ron saved him a place. Either way, he walked over to it.

"Dursley!" the man barked again, as Dudley started to make his way to the chair, a dark arrogant smirk turned in the left crook of the Professor's mouth. "What would I get if I added powered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Draught of Living Death," he answered, luckily not sounding as smug as he felt when he said it; he remembered this part of the book very vividly, thanks to pub quiz reinforced knowledge. He kept his eyes down, as he passed Harry.

He pressed a scrap of paper into Harry's hand that was resting behind the chair he had sunk into, trying to be invisible, as he took the seat next to Ron. Hermione pushed a book onto the back of his hand the second he sat. It was all Dudley could do not to smile._ Clever girl,_ he thought as he grasped and slid it onto his lap.

"Correct," Snape said the word slowly, as if it were foreign and unfamiliar. He did _not _sound happy. A twitch of a smirk plucked his lip, and he swiftly turned. "Potter! What is the difference between Wolf-bane and Monkshood?"

Hermione's hand shot up immediately, and Dudley lazily raised his, lifting and placing the book on his lap onto the table. Then he raised an eyebrow. _I'm sure that's out of order._

"Err..." Harry suddenly leaned forward and gave Dudley a side-glance. Dudley didn't hold back a smile this time. "Nothing? They're-they are…the same?" The Potions masters' face darkened.

Ron sniggered.

Snape's penetrating gaze sliced to him instantly, and Ron paled so rapidly that it was almost as if he'd been mortally wounded by the look. Snape smirked, as he swooped close to their table.

"You must be a Weasley," making it obvious that he was looking at Ron's hair. Some Slytherins sniggered. "What, Mr Weasley, would I get if I add toadwart, lizards eye _and_ pondweed picked _before_ midnight?"

_That's a new one,_ Dudley thought. Hermione's hand stretched higher, while Ron went deep scarlet and shook his head. Snape smirked nastily.

"Lucky number three," Seamus muttered quietly, winking at Ron, trying to cheer him up.

"For your information, Mr Weasley…toadwart, lizards eye and pondweed picked before midnight, create a laughter potion. Potter, Dursley, 5 points each."

Everyone looked at each other in shock.

Snape silky turned way from the class, as he spoke darkly over his shoulder. "Minus 10 points, Dursley, for your lateness. Minus 2, Weasley, for your arrogance… Oh, and 3 points from Mr _Finnigan_ for talking-out-of-turn."

"That means Gryffindor lost 5 points," Hermione hissed around the table. All the Gryffindors groaned, except Dudley. He dared to glance at the man, as he smirked to his snakes on the other side of the room, all the time considering how much of this was an act, or if this was an act at all.

Snape span sharply on his heels, and Dudley dropped his gaze. "Have none of you written this down?" The lesson continued…

Dudley, naturally, tried to team with Hermione. "Thanks for not telling." He felt rather childish and foolish for saying it, even more so as she was having none of it, and ignored him completely.

Unfortunately, Snape noticed Hermione's reluctance from the Slytherin side of the classroom, and seized it. That was how Dudley became teamed with Ron, Hermione with Seamus, leaving Harry teamed with Neville.

_At least Neville was happy about the switch,_ Dudley thought, as he crushed Ron's snake fangs into fine dust. They were supposed to be just crushed, but if he knew anything about chemistry, which he crossed his fingers in the hope that potions was a form of, then having finer crusted fangs would give them a greater surface area to the potion and hence a better result…or at least that's what he told Ron.

He wondered if he should have brought Snape's old first year schoolbook with him, as he _carefully_ added the fang dust to the potion. He decided against it at once, as it was far too risky, particularly with the previous owner in the room teaching the lesson.

_And my decision has nothing to do with the potion turning a strong purple _(the correct colour) _without the need for it._ He thought smugly, staring into the deep purple, as Ron grinned back at him, just as smugly.

As they looked around to check that they had indeed been the first ones to do it correctly, their attention was drawn by Harry's voice.

"Off the heat, Neville!"

They turned in time to see Harry knocking Neville away from the potion and taking the cauldron off the fire. Neville tripped, as Harry took control, managing to flop flat at Snape's feet.

"Idiot boy. Get up." He sneered down his nose at Neville. Draco and his cronies sniggered in the background, as others watched the scene. Snape looked to Harry, who hadn't noticed Neville's fall, and was now adding porcupine quills to his cauldron. Snape was about to open his mouth to say something, when Ron, unable to contain himself, buttered out. "Professor Snape, we've finished!"

Dudley was suddenly filled with a desire to punch Ron, very hard. From the looks of it, Snape was just about to give Harry a compliment_. _

Dudley smiled longingly to himself. _That would have been very interesting…_

8

By the end of the lesson, Gryffindor had managed not to lose any more points, and Dudley had calmed a bit. But the feeling of frustration lingered, as he and Ron answered twenty questions that Severus had given them to complete.

As everyone filed out, Harry and Ron invited him to go to Hagrid's hut, which Harry had gotten an invitation to that morning. He said that he'd catch up with them later, and that he wanted to talk to Hermione.

Dudley waited a little longer so that more people had piled out before he turned to talk to her, who was still packing her scales. As he turned, she grabbed her scales and disappeared out the classroom.

He rolled his eyes, as she was obviously still embarrassed about earlier.

Just then, Dudley realised Severus was still in the classroom and watching him. He rolled his eyes, sighed and shrugged. "Women."

Severus' dark eyes lingered on him for a second, before he turned away. "Get out, Dursley."

Dudley laughed to himself once he exited the potion's room, practically skipping to Hagrids. _Today was a good day. _He smiled again, as he sighted Hagrid's._ For someone running on almost no sleep_.

He thought about the potion book stashed in the Room of Requirement, as well as the other one. "Lets hope tonight will be just as productive."

"Dursley!"

He slowed._ Oh Merlin_.

"Dursley! Where do you think you're going? Dursley!"

"Bye, Percy!" he yelled, and then burst into a run, heading for the hut.


	9. It comes

Hey everyone, and thank you all for your reviews :) Here's 9. Sorry it took so long. Big Thanks to Beta Storyseeker.

**It comes!**

Dudley was caked in mud by the time he reached Hagrid's hut, thanks to a trip step and Hagrid's vegetable patch. Not even Fang would give him a sniff when Hagrid came rushing over from the other side of the garden to help him out of the patch of, apparently freshly laid, dragon dung fertilizer. It also turned out that Harry was supposed to be meeting Hagrid later in the evening, and that there was no reason for him to have come so early.

Mercifully, Hagrid allowed him in his house, saving Dudley from the embarrassment of walking back into the castle, soaking wet and covered head to toe in dragon dung. Hagrid offered to wash his clothes, giving him a huge fur blanket to wrap himself up in, while his clothes bubbled in a copper cauldron over the fireplace.

He pulled the fur blanket tighter around himself, exhausted. His eyes drooped, as he glossily stared into the fire. Merlin he was tired! There was nothing more he wanted than to just sleep. He rolled his eyes away from the fire in an attempt to stay awake.

He instead turned his focus on to the room he was in. He had only given it a once over when he was led inside by Hagrid, but now he looked around the hut with a more explorative gaze. He couldn't help but think - marvellous.

This was a room with personality, oak beams, furs, polished brass, thatched roof and well used furniture. Dudley smiled, as his eyes landed on the white flowery, chipped tea set. A small pile of rock-cakes rested next to them on a slightly indented tray.

He relaxed into the chair. "I could live here," he said, sighing under his breath and resting his head off the back of it, yawning.

Hagrid smiled to himself, as he hooked a copper kettle above the fire, removing the cauldron with Dudley's clothes in it, and placing it beside his chair. "Yer look tired, Dudley?"

"Like you wouldn't believe-" Dudley eyes rolled naturally back to the fire. "I was up all night, reading a rather interesting book."

"A book?" Hagrid looked surprised, as one of his large hairy eyebrows raised into his fringe. "What wer' it about?"

Dudley sat forward slightly in his chair. "Err, what's it about? Its…it's called 'What Is Magic'. It's about…Well, it's not… it's basically about magic. Sort of."

Hagrid looked at Dudley and sat up straighter. "Aye, and?"

Dudley shook his head, and waved his hand. "It's complicated, Hagrid. You wouldn't understand."

"Hey, an' wha's tha's suppose ter' mean?" As Hagrid leaned forward, his big furry face filled Dudley's entire view, and his heart started to a beat a little faster. Hagrid smiled and placed his heavy hand on Dudley's shoulder. "I don' has' ter understand it, Dudley. Don' forget I know a bit about magic." Hagrid tipped his head toward the frilly umbrella by the door, and winked.

"…" Dudley bit his bottom lip. It was tempting, very tempting. He lifted his thumb and forefinger to his lip, and Hagrid happily began to set the indented tray on the light oak table, as Dudley contemplated.

"It's an equation." He blurted finally. He looked to Hagrid, whose brows were now knitted as if about to say something, but he reached it first. "An equation is like…like a transfiguration circle. Well, sort of - it's like a code as well. But its not finished. In the book, some of the pages are missing. Ripped out of the book, as if someone was trying to hide something."

He could feel the excitement bubbling within him, as it showed in his suddenly animated expressions. Hagrid could see them, too, which was why he didn't interrupt him, even though he had clearly lost Dudley the second he mentioned 'transfiguration circles'.

"But what I found interesting in it, I mean really interesting, is that it begins to map a theory about magic in _scientific_ terms, err…'Muggle' terms." Dudley corrected, as he absently ran his fingers into the fur blanket as he spoke. "The theory allows magic to be an omnipresence multidimensional force, which means that it can be everywhere at the same time." Dudley paused, and looked to the fire again, the red flames reflection in the copper kettle catching his eye. "If I understand it correctly, it could mean that magic could be filtered through universes, and could be used to create a small fracture that could allow two points in space to come together. Theoretically, someone could cross uni…"

Just then, a double knock hammered the door, and Fang, who had been lazing on the bed, exploded into life and began barking madly at the door.

"Back, Fang, back!" Hagrid jumped out of his chair, and pulled the dog back.

Dudley collapsed back into the chair, eyes wide and suddenly feeling very awake. _What was that?_ _I almost just…_ He took a deep breath through his nose, closed his eyes, and forced it out. He peered through half closed eyes at Hagrid, as he pulled Fang off Ron who was now drenched in the great dog's slobber, before a mop of black hair and green eyes suddenly blocked the scene.

"Dud, why's your nose bleeding?"

Dudley dabbed a finger under his nostril and looked. His nose was bleeding. He rubbed it into the blanket, as Harry watched on with a quizzical frown.

"Dud, why are you naked?"

"I'm not naked." He looked down and pulled the furs closer together, as they had fallen open when he'd been talking to Hagrid. "I'm in my boxers."

Harry gave Dudley an odd look. "Yeah, but why?"

Dudley rolled his eyes. "Because my clothes got covered in shi…" He sat forward, as he caught himself. "…Got…dirty."

Hagrid raised his brow at Dudley, as he sat down, while Harry frowned and sat at the table next to Ron who was rubbing the dog slobber off his ears with his sleeve. "How?" Harry asked again.

"What does it matter?" Dudley questioned back irritably.

"Because..." Harry snapped, getting to his feet.

"What are boxers?" Ron asked idly. Harry and Dudley turned slowly to stare at Ron. A light whistle began to whisper from the fireplace. As it increased in pitch, so did the flush deepen on Ron's face.

"A'right, who's up for a cupper?" Hagrid suddenly interjected into the growing silence, pulling the copper kettle from the fire and pouring the steamy liquid into a flowery teapot. "So…how were yer firs' week at Hogwart's?"

Dudley, again, relaxed back into the chair. As Harry and Ron bombarded Hagrid with information, he just couldn't understand how the man could sit there and be…_interested_. He closed his eyes, listening to the two excited boys chatter away.

He couldn't help but feel heavy and grounded with weight, as Hagrid laughed with Ron and Harry about Mrs Norris, Filch's cat, who followed Hagrid every time he entered the castle. The realisation hit him that the reason he'd almost blurted everything to Hagrid was because Hagrid was quite simply an adult willing to listen to him.

It wasn't the first time he felt like _this _since he'd arrived into this universe. He'd spent so much time around children that every so often he'd forget that he wasn't one. It had made talking to 'adults' seem odd and somewhat peculiar, whenever he'd ask one a question or worst _challenge_ one, the way he'd so casually done before the switch, they shoot him down or attempt to discredit him. _As Severus did today, _hethought before cringing, _and the way I've been doing to Harry._ He scrunched his face up tightly and then sighed.

Still, he missed being able to talk with peers that understood him, or rather understood what he was saying. He cringed again at the way he crumbled so weakly in potions, a person like Severus he'd challenge without a qualm way back when, but truth was he had been fearful today.

The way adults treated children was criminal, break them down only to shape them back into their own twisted shape. Regret tumbled over him, as he hadn't even tried to help Neville when he'd fallen, and instead he'd just watched with a hope for Severus to do what exactly? Pat Harry on the back and let him call him daddy, for being awful to another human being? He had to start taking this world seriously, and with that little thought he drifted into a much needed slumber.

8

Fire, bright red light and a thundering ground shaking noise was everywhere. Dudley shot up in his shaking bed, and for a few panicked seconds stared around Hagrid's hut with extreme confusion before remembering where he was. His eyes immediately searched for the source of the shaking.

"Get down! Let me just get my…" Hagrid was standing by the door swing a crossbow, stamping his feet and trying to push an excited Fang off of him. Hagrid caught Dudley staring. "Ah, yer' awake." There was an awkward silence as Dudley looked around the room, stilling trying to collect his bearings.

"Where are…Harry and…Ron?" he questioned, half rolling out of the lumpy bed, then turned back to look at it. "How did I…?"

"Ha! Harry and Ron left ages ago. Yeh fell asleep so I put yer on the bed. Musta fallen asleep me'self." Hagrid laughed jollily, as he threw Dudley his clothes, which hit Dudley and knocked him backwards onto the bed. "Good thing yer woke up really. Was just about ter' head out"

"To the forest!" Dudley said, jumping up from the bed excitedly, suddenly revived from his sleep. He quickly pulled his shirt on. "Can I come with you?"

"Err…"Hagrid turned to look down at Fang. "Yeh know that I'd love fer' yer to come, Dudley, but…"

"Excellent!" He hurriedly pulled his clothes on, pretending he hadn't heard the 'but', as he twirled his cloak on. "I've always wanted to explore the woods…err, since I got here." He stepped sharply next to a slightly baffled Hagrid, and a curious looking Fang.

"A-are yeh sure?" Hagrid looked pleadingly down to Dudley, his fingers anxiously moving to his crossbow. "On'y it's very late…"

Dudley hesitated, and then cocked an eyebrow. "That's okay. It's Saturday tomorrow."

"It's sat'day now," Hagrid muttered gruffly, looking at the night through the gap of his curtains.

"So? I'll have all Sunday to sleep it off." Dudley smirked, and pulled the door open. The half-moon was high and bright in the night sky, lighting the fields and the castle in the distance with a slivery light. "Wow," he gasped.

"Beau'iful sight, init?" Hagrid whispered softy.

He smiled up at the half-giant. "It's totally epic, Hagrid."

Hagrid laughed and placed a large hand on his shoulder. Dudley managed to bob in time, so that his legs didn't buckle under it. "Comm'on, Dudley, while the nigh' is youn'. Oh, stay close, an' keep yer wand ready." With those words of advice, Hagrid led Dudley into the forest.

As they trailed through the woodland, Dudley explained more about the book and the equation, being extra careful not to mention anything about crossing universes or the Room of Requirement. For the most part, Hagrid seem to understand some of what he was trying to explain, and even had some opinions to offer. Particularly about flying, to which Hagrid pointed out quite vigorously "a person can' fly without a broom or flyin' carpet or enchanted somethin'."

Dudley was just about to ask Hagrid why, when they noticed Fang had become stiff and alert. Hagrid mentioned to Dudley with one hand to be quiet, as he raised his crossbow. Dudley raised his wand, both males gripping their weapons tightly.

"Ha!" Hagrid suddenly smiled and lowered his crossbow. "Don' worry, it's a friend." Dudley lowered his wand slowly, the image of giant spiders springing out of the dark corners of the trees sharp in his mind.

"Hello, Hagrid," came a sorrowful voice from between a shadowy cove, formed from two very large trees that had at some point fallen against each other and fused together over a great deal of time. "You have brought a child from the school with you tonight." It tilted its head slightly to the side. "Why?"

"Hullo, Ronan. Yeh, this is Dudley, his travellin' from the castle alrigh'. He wanted ter see what the forest wer' like." The mention of his name brought Dudley back from the air-brained, daze gawp that seeing a real life Centaur had caused in him. He lowered his wand. Seeing a half-man, half-horse was miles away from meeting a saggy skinned goblin.

"Oh." Ronan slowly turned his gaze to Dudley. "How do you find the forest, little one?"

"It's…" Dudley looked around the clearing that he had, until now, blindly followed Hagrid into. The trees looked painted black all around him, the ground was wet and starting to fog, and he could feel the breeze with his free hand, as he flexed his fingers. There was magic in the air, just as there had been in Diagon ally. He looked up at the bright moon, sliver illuminated strands of what he immediately assumed to be spider webs, linked in a canopy between the towering trees. He looked silently back to Ronan and smiled, and the Centaur nodded elegantly in agreement and looked to the sky.

"Ha, uh, yes." Hagrid coughed. "It wer' good ter' see yer', Ronan, but me and Dudley mus' be goin'."

"Farewell, Hagrid." Ronan's eyes then left the sky, and lingered on Dudley as he spoke. "Farewell, traveller." Ronan then stared back into the sky and walked without looking down a dark path.

Once he was out of sight, Hagrid gave Dudley a funny look. "Centaurs, ruddy star gazers."

"Yeah." Dudley smiled back politely, but an oddly cold sensation echoed somewhere within him, the feeling that there was something more in what the Centaur had said. "Can we go back now, Hagrid? I'm getting cold."

He spent the rest of the night in the Room of Requirement, as halfway up the staircase, and after ducking Mr Filch twice, he realised he didn't have the password to get into the common room.

He set himself reading Professor Snape's old potions textbooks, and the leather-bound book, _What Is Magic_, writing out little bits of the equation and the half-blood prince's footnotes into a notebook.

Then, unable to sleep, he asked the room for a book that would help him to clean his dusty clothes, which he'd stashed into an emptied leather shoulder bag that morning, and set himself to work with trying to cast the spell, and after twelve failed attempts, managed to succeed in casting it. He then decided he'd write a list of all the spells he wanted to be able to cast before the end of the year, and got as far as Patronus, before he passed out head-down on the notebook.


	10. Chapter 10

Big Thanks to Beta Storyseeker.

**Pigs Can't Fly!**

It was an early start as always for Dudley. The sun had hardly appeared on the Great Hall's ceiling yet, leaving only the dim candles to illuminate the hall. Unfortunately, the candles' lights were dimmer in the morning to match the rising sun outside, so it was uncomfortably dark for anyone to read in.

However, Dudley laid three book and two journals neatly around his gold plate, and a dark and tatty, red leather notebook. The smug look on his face hinted that the lack of light had been expected, and the lavish swing, as he withdrew wand, showed that he was prepared for it.

After the encounter with the Centaur, he had not been able to put a book, pen or his wand down. He hadn't even spent a single night in his Gryffindor room since that night almost a week ago now. He contemplated whether he could sneak another trip to the woods out with Hagrid before going to the Room of Requirement for some spell practise, research and bed.

To him, the Room of Requirement now felt like it was his. It was a haven where he could, for a few hours before breakfast, mealtimes and classes, be himself, and really be free from the invisible restrains that had been constraining and weighing on his mind. As a result, he found he was filling up notebooks almost faster than he could find reasons to, even when using shorthand and acronyms. He finally had a project he could get his teeth into, Magic. The problem was that there was so much of it.

He aimed his wand at one of the floating candles overhead and drew a circle under it with the tip of his wand. He did this repeatedly until eventually the candle very slowly began to turn in time with his strokes. Then, like a slow-motion whirlybird, the candle began to descend. A short while later, he plucked it from the air and placed it on a small gold saucer.

He smirked to himself proudly, as he pulled one of the books he had been intending to read under the flame. However, before he could start, a quiet and rapid clapping echoed around the hall. He quickly turned to the source, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. At the professors dining table, Professor Flitwick was clapping wildly, and he then proceeded to give Dudley a grin and a nod of acknowledgment, which Dudley awkwardly returned, as he whispered though gritted teeth, "What the hell are _you_ doing up this early?"

Then he saw who was beside the small man, and from the uneasy look of annoyance in Quirrell's stature, Dudley guessed he'd been spotted by Flitwick this morning, hence been forced to accompany him to the hall.

_However, that doesn't explain why Flitwick was up so early… _Dudley's left eyebrow lifted slightly, as he turned his notebook to the light of the candle, which illuminated its red bounding. _Or, _Dudley thought,_ perhaps it does_.

Dudley shook his head and turned back to his books, as there was nothing he could do about Quirrell yet. P_articularly since I don't have any way to defend myself against him_.

He began scribbling away in his notebooks, marking a reminder to watch Quirrel and to also find more empty notebooks.

Most of Dudley's 'notebooks' were usually some form of quarter filled soppy teenage diary, hidden in the Room of Requirement where no eyes could penetrate their pages. He, of course, ripped out anything that had belonged to the former owner without a qualm. Unfortunately, the tide of books was beginning to thin. He now only had the red leather one left… Well, as suitable as it was that could be used in public…pink fur just wasn't him.

Dudley looked around the Great Hall, as sunlight brightened the hall, showing that he had sidetracked himself again. He just couldn't accept what the book was saying about why a barrier that could protect someone against magic couldn't also be used to protect one from physical objects at the same time, instead of having to perform two separate spells. Some people had begun to arrive for breakfast, mainly Ravenclaws, which meant it was probably around eight.

"Where were you last night, Dud-ley?" came a singsong voice from either side of him.

"Hello, Fred. Hello, George." The twins ducked under the table and popped up on the other side, chipper as ever.

"Out of the castle again, were we?" they said, eyebrows wiggling up and down suggestively.

"Spying on me again last night, were we?" He looked up from his books, and as he did Fred grabbed the book he was reading, knocking the candle over, which then shot up in the air, throwing melted wax four feet down the table. Dudley and the twins went very stiff and looked around the hall without moving.

"Err, well…" Fred said, after it was clear no one had noticed the flying wax. "George, what's our young friend reading?"

"Wha-oh," George flipped the book over and squinted as he read "_Repulsion Spells by Rebel Forces? _Wouldn't think you'd need this, big man."

"Not with those muscles." Fred leaned over and poked Dudley's bicep. "And, you know…" He poked Dudley's nose. "…The face."

"..." Dudley pulled the booked out of George's hands, stuffed the journals inside it before snapping it, and the other books, shut and stacking them under the table. "Perhaps I'm learning so that I can stop Weasleys spying on me, hmm." He eyed them both, but his attention was drawn to the redhead by the entrance, as Percy was eyeing them.

The twins faked devastation. "Spying. We don't spy. Do we George?"

"No, of course not, Fred. Well, there was that one time with…"

"HA-HA, very amusing!" he snapped. Fred and George both jumped and looked taken aback. Dudley wasn't surprised, as he was a little taken back himself. "Sorry. I-I didn't mean to."

The twins looked at each other with raised eyebrows. "That's…okay," they said together slowly. "Are-are you alright, Dud?"

It felt weird someone other than Harry calling him 'Dud'. "Yea-yeah, I'm fine. Just a bit stressed." He waited for Percy to pass behind him before continuing. "Your brother still won't leave me alone."

"He's still following you?" Fred frowned. "Why?"

"Not a clue." Dudley answered curtly, shrugging. The twins stared at Dudley, and then at each other, seeming to have some sort of silent conversation.

"It's only been two weeks, Dudley." George said at last.

"Yeah, you're probably a bit home sick and…stuff." Said Fred. "So we'll lay off you for a bit, and see what we can do with Percy, until you…you…?"

"Acclimatize?" Dudley offered.

"Yeah." They both looked at him strangely. "'That'"

"That's really cool, guys. Thanks."

The bulk of the student body then started to arrive, and he tried to mark Harry and Ron in the crowd of groaning teenagers. He couldn't see them, but that wasn't surprising, as the first years always came a little later than the rest, mostly because they still got lost. He turned back to his notebook and rested the tip of his quill on a new line.

"Dudley! Guess what we're doing today!"

He jumped, as from behind him two pairs of hands landed on either shoulder, causing his quill to slide across the page.

"Oh for the love of…Harry! Ron!" Harry sat next to him, whilst Ron ducked under the table and sat by his brothers on the other side of the table, probably fearful that Dudley might make a swing at him. Fred and George sniggered, and then burst into laughter. They'd obviously seen them sneaking up. Ron and Harry were grinning, the way they did whenever they'd decided do something…irritating.

"Flying," Harry said suddenly, bemusing Dudley.

"What?"

"What they are_ trying_ to tell you, _since you're never in the tower_, is that we start our first flying lesson today with Slytherin." Hermione informed him, as she sat next to a very nervous looking Neville. "Apparently, when flying your supposed to…" Dudley switched off, as Hermione then went into 'jabber mode'; a skill all men learned at some point. Instead, his mind began to wonder to the first HP book, and flying.

Dudley's memory of what happened in the first book seemed to get a little vague every time he thought about it these days. 'Was it the first flying lesson Harry became Seeker? Or was it the second? Was there even a second flying lesson?_'_ were some of the questions now lightly nudging away in his mind. It was strange, as he never would have needed to 'think' about it before, but perhaps he'd been away from the books too long. What else had he forgotten?

An owl swooped down and dropped a small package in the middle of the group of first years. Fred and George must have gone while Dudley was lost in his thoughts. Dudley twigged what the package was the second Neville reach over excitedly and seized it. Neville tore off the paper and held the glass-orb up with his thumb and first two fingers. It immediately started to turn a deep red, as Neville explained the Remembrall.

Dudley saw a pale hand reach out beside his face, and without thinking he grabbed it. He had to turn around to see whom it belonged to. It was, of course, Draco.

"Hands off, Malfoy! That Neville's!" Harry barked, springing to his feet. Ron did too, but unless he was going to leap across the table, he didn't look very intimidating.

"What's going on?" Professor McGonagall seemed to appear out of nowhere. Whilst Harry, Ron and Draco began to explain what had happened, Dudley pulled the Remembrall out of Draco's hand and let his arm go. He was about to hand the Remembrall back to Neville, but what happened next no one could explain.

The Remembrall in Dudley's hand suddenly erupted into a blinding scarlet light. Dudley dropped it, and shielded his eyes. McGonagall quick encapsulated the Remembrall in an invisible sphere, as it exploded. Tiny shards of glass floated in the sphere for a brief second before McGonagall vanished them away.

8

"Do you think you forgot something?" Neville asked, as Harry, Ron, Hermione and Dudley walked out onto the Quidditch pitch. The flying lesson wouldn't be until much later in the afternoon, but after spending three hours in the library trying to figure out what caused the Remembrall to explode, they all needed to get out for a while. Somehow, their feet lead them to the stadium.

"It'd have to be a pretty big something to forget." Ron whistled, drawing his hands far apart before clapping them together, as they all sat on the grass under the second goal post.

"I still think it had to be a pop jinx. Malfoy might have cast it when we weren't looking," Hermione piped. She was a lot calmer now that she wasn't thinking about the afternoon Flying lesson.

"Yeah, that would work. If he could actually caste any spells. He's only a first year." Ron said, his voice thick with sarcasm. This started them bickering, and Neville trying quietly to calm them down.

"Do you think it had something to do with your dreams?" Harry whispered whilst the others were distracted, Hermione was arguing that a first year could cast the 'popping jinx' if they practised it, since she could do it. Ron disagreed.

Dudley winced at Harry's question. "Sort of. It might not mean anything." All the while he found himself thinking 'Without it you won't become Seeker'. "You're not nervous about this afternoon by any chance?" he tried, attempting to divert the conversation.

"A bit, but nerves are good, aren't they? 'Keep you alert'." Harry smiled and looked skywards at the hoops of the goal posts.

Dudley raised an eyebrow. "Now what clever bugger told you that?"

"A fat one." Dudley pushed Harry, as they sniggered. Harry lightly threw a small pebble at his belly, which he caught. "I don't wanna make a foul of myself, not in front of everyone."

"You won't," Dudley rolled the pebble in his hand. His eyes widened suddenly, then slowly his lip twitched and he began to smile. "I'll see you guys this afternoon." He jumped to his feet and headed straight back to the school.

"Where's he going?" He heard Ron asking Harry.

"He probably has a plan," Harry said, getting to his feet.

"A plan? A plan for what? It better not put Gryffindor in trouble because…" Dudley didn't hear the rest of what Hermione said, as he was running to the Room of Requirement.

8

"You're late." Madam Hooch looked at him sternly. Her hawk eyes would have been unnerving, if Dudley hadn't spent half his childhood at comic-cons.

"Nope, you are early." He strutted into place between Hermione and Harry, both of who were looking rather nervous when he arrived, as did several others. Dudley's quip had an obvious effect, relieving some of the tension. Harry smiled and nodded, as Dudley stood to attention.

"Right, yes," Madam Hooch mumbled, looking at her rather slick timepiece. "Well! Stick out your right hand over your broom and say; UP!"

Dudley looked over to Draco, questioning whether his quickly drawn plan would work. Although now he was slightly more worried about whether he could cast the spell on demand. It didn't help that it would be in front of so many people. He absently held his hand over the broom.

"Up" The broom floated so smoothly into his grasp, he almost jumped when it touched his hand.

All his focus was now locked on the broomstick in his hand, a piece of wood that defied gravity. He couldn't help it…he had to experiment. 'How does it work?' He pushed against it, the broom slipping down a few inches, but then it became harder like pushing two ends of a magnet together.

"Outstanding," Dudley giddily muttered to himself, grinning. His mind erupted, as it always did when something peaked his interest.

"Mr Dursley?"

He looked up with a start. Madam Hooch and the other first years were staring at him, the Slytherins sniggering, as everyone was sitting on their broom. "Wake up and mount your broom! Flying demands your full attention."

"Undoubtedly, I'm sure," he muttered, mounting his broom.

Hooch corrected his grip, and then looked to the rest of the class. "Now, ON my whis…!"

"Ahhhh!" Neville had jumped at Hooch's shout, and had shot upward at an alarming pace, his hands leaving the broom in the process. The stick blasted out from in-between his legs; leaving Neville 6ft high and somersaulting back. There was just enough time for him to say "oh" before he dropped from the air.

"Poor Neville," Hermione muttered to herself, as Hooch helped a hobbling Neville to the hospital wing. Dudley had to cover his mouth with his hand to disguise a giggle, which then evolved into laugher.

He didn't mean to laugh, but the way the broom had shot through the sky reminded him of Beatrice, Aunt Marge's only female breeding dog, which he later deduced was (would have been) Ripper's mother. Harry looked first at him with disgust, but when Dudley pointed to the sky, Harry somehow realised why he was laughing and loudly snorted back his own laugh. This only caused them both to collapse onto each other, as they both burst into hysterics. Madam Hooch looked at them, horrified, which didn't help to calm either of them, as she then rushed Neville to the hospital wing a little bit faster.

"What are you laughing at?" Parvati Patil squared up to them, but was immediately cut down by Pansy Parkinson.

"Obviously that fat pigs can't fly, Patil," she snorted, and some Slytherins sniggered.

"Dogs can! Ha-ha-ha!" Dudley burst out in laugher, tears dripping from his eyes.

Pansy's jaw dropped. "What did you call me?"

"A Dog…ha-ha-ha!" Harry surged out in laugher with Dudley, neither of them hearing or noticing Pansy. Harry breathed in sharply and squeaked. "Ha-ha-ha, I can-I-can't b-breathe!" All the Gryffindors suddenly seemed to catch the giggles then.

Pansy's face was scrunched up like tight maroon leather.

"You take that back, Potter!" Draco, perhaps looking for any excuse, came forward as if to ram Harry. Dudley grabbed the end of the broomstick with his left hand. It rattled his wrist painfully, but he didn't allow the discomfort to reach his face.

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy?"

Ron dropped his broom, as did Crabbe and Goyle. Draco drifted up backwards sharply, out of Dudley's reach. Harry followed him on his own broom.

"Wait! Stop!" Hermione and Dudley shouted together. They looked at each other, but Dudley took control. "Instead of fighting like Muggles!" he shouted, drifting uneasily about a foot up off the ground. "I propose a different…" He pulled out the stone pebble from his left pocket, and his wand from the other. "…Action."

8

"Detention? Really?" Dudley raised an eyebrow. "Harry becomes Seeker, and I get detention?" He stood relaxed, looking out McGonagall's office window distantly. He could almost see the stadium. It was interesting to see the forest turning black, as the sky darkened. He listened coldly to the stern voice of his head of house.

He was happy that his plan had worked, and Harry became seeker like he should, but why was it him getting the detention? Okay, three broken windows, but if Harry hadn't let go of the pebble then that never would have happened.

McGonagall stared steely at him from behind her desk. "You have spent a total of three nights within Gryffindor house since arriving, Mr Dursley. The 'event' today has little more to do with my decision. You will spend your detention with Professor Flitwick." That caught his attention. "Yes. He _insisted_." Dudley doubted that McGonagall ever rolled her eyes, but even so he could quite clearly hear it in her tone.

The Professor's tone hardened again. "And then you will report back to Percy Weasley at Gryffindor tower, where you _will_ bed tonight. Is that clear?" Dudley gritted his teeth at the 'P' word.

"Yes. Fine. Whatever." He walked to the door and swung it open, then stopped. "Actually, no. Why _are_ you letting Harry be Seeker?" He paused. "Why not wait until next year?"

McGonagall sighed and gestured to a wooden chair, in which he sat, his arms crossed. "Mr Dursley, I am not oblivious to the fact that allowing Mr Potter, your cousin, to join the Gryffindor team is unorthodox. However, I believe your concern is perhaps driven more from…"

"You think I'm jealous? No. My 'concern', as you put it, isn't that I'm not allowed to 'join the team'. My concern is that no one else is. Harry's good, I'm not blind, as I can see that, but he's still a first year. He's flown _exactly_ once. And what happens when he's on the field, while everyone else on that field is going to be bigger and more brutal. Fact!"

_Wow_, he thought, surprised at himself.

"Mr Dursley! That is quite e…"

"And let's not even begin with the double standard. I break the rules, I get detention, Harry breaks the rule and the rule _bends._ Your treating him differently, and he and everyone else will notice…"

"Enough! Mr Dursley, your detention with Professor Flitwick, now!" He could feel the capital as she spoke.

He stormed from the room, and four strides later he was already regretting doing so.

8

Dudley peeked his head around the Professor Flitwick's Charms' classroom. The small man was standing on several books, and waving his wand in circles, blue sparkles following the tip, as was a small whirlwind of dust. Dudley coughed into his fist.

"Ah, Mr Dursley!" Flitwick squeaked, as he jumped down from his stack of books. "You're early?"

"Call me Dudley. There's no-one else here." He coughed into his fist again, flapping a cloud of dust from his face.

Flitwick's eyebrows rose almost two inches up his forehead, as he waved his wand and made the cloud disappear. "I'm not sure that would be appro…"

"Professor, can I ask you a question?" Dudley interrupted.

"You already have." The little man's high-pitch giggle was followed by a short awkward silence.

"Ha, yeah," Dudley humoured, and forced another cough. "Why can't hu…wizards fly?"

"They can," the little man answered simply. "For your detention, could you just lift those books, and put them up there." Flitwick pointed to three thick tomes, and then to the highest shelve.

Dudley pulled his wand from his right pocket. "_Leviosa Momentia_." He flicked his wand sharply upwards and toward the top of the cabinet, the books hitting the wall hard, driving out more dust. The small neon glow on the tip of Dudley's vanished, as he stumped it out in his hand, allowing the books to collapse on the shelf. "I mean without brooms, sir."

"Argh," Flitwick's eyes seemed to enlarge. "That's a very complex question Mr…Dudley. NEWT level in fact." He scurried up some books until he was only a head smaller than Dudley. "Where did you learn that?"

"Learn what? Oh, the spell. From a book…err, Hollyfeathers theory to-to-" He struggled to remember the name.

"_Hollyfeathers Theory to the Levitation_? Thought so!" The Professor's eyes widened with delight. "I'm impressed. Did you…understand it?"

"HA! No. More than half of it was complete gibberish." He swore he could hear Flitwick sigh in relief. "I plan to study it further when I have the time, though. I didn't have much time this morning to really go through it."

"You…but…" a choking sound sputtered from Flitwick. "But this morning, in the hall…"

"Oh no, no, no. That was a different book. I've been skimming Hollyfeathers for a while. Merlin it's dusty in here. I just figured out how to cast the 'within in air movement charm' this morning." He had leaned on the side of one of the wood tables and was now wiping it off. "The candle was just a temporary reverse levitation charm that I learned the other day."

"Does that explain the four broken windows and why there was a rock circulating the towers this afternoon?" Flitwick looked mischievously upwards. "And why the house elves have been scrubbing wax off the Gryffindor table?"

"It was a pebble, actually." Dudley's face reddened. "I told Harry not to let go. I managed to stop it, didn't I? And if Fred and George hadn't being pestering me, the candle would never…why are you laughing?"

Flitwick shoulders were jiggling up and down, almost reaching his ears. "Oh, I am not laughing, sorry." He giggled, making Dudley frown at the little man. He didn't like being made fun of. "Sorry," Flitwick apologised again. "It's so rare to find a student who takes an interest in charms."

"Perhaps it because I'm Muggeborn," Dudley said dryly, rolling the dust on his sleeve into a ball before picking it off.

Flitwick stopped jiggling, and his brow seemed to darken.

"No, it's because you have passion, a real passion. I can see it in you. It radiates in fact, and _all_ the Professors think so. You must have asked me more questions in two weeks than I usually get in a year, and that's good. Don't let issues of blood status even grace you mind, Mr Dursley. I've taught hundreds of students, good students, who have lost their way simply because they were told they weren't good enough, and it would sadden me greatly to think such a thing could happen to a curious and clever boy such as you."

Dudley stared at the man, speechless. "…Wow… err… thank you, Professor Flitwick. But I…what I meant was that because magic is new to me, because I come from a non-magical world that…" He trailed off. "So why can't wizards fly?" he quickly changed the subject.

8

"It's so late," he whispered to himself, as he walked blindly around the castle. The one-hour detention had changed into a four-hour conversation on the limitations of magic, and somehow Dudley was now part of the school choir? Flitwick had to write him a note so that if Filch found him wondering back to the common room, he wouldn't get in trouble.

The castle was creepy at night, and it didn't help that one of the staircases had moved when he was on it. He was now slightly lost, as all the corridors looked the same in the dark.

He came to a crossroad in the corridor. He looked down them, and they both looked endless. Dudley took a deep breath, as the silence was deafening.

"Right, okay." He licked his lips, his voice echoing eerily. He swallowed, as he needed a bit of sound. He couldn't believe he was actually going to do this: -

"#You despise everyone  
and everyone despises you.#"

He sang quietly, and then giggled to himself, as it echoed back. 'Everyone's entitled to a little silliness, when there's no one there to see it,' he justified. Three seconds later, he was skipping down the corridors, singing the 'Like Snape' song, all creepiness dissipated.

"#But it's okay  
to feel like Snape…#"

"Dudley?"

"AHHH!" His heart felt like it had exploded, as someone reached from behind him and covered his mouth with their hand, while someone else tried to seize him around the waist, trying to pin his arm. He tore himself from their grip, and grabbed the arm over his face and threw them into the wall. Whoever it was landed with a thud, and he then grabbed the shirt of the one around his waist and punched them in the face.

"Who the fuc…" The one he was holding whimpered, and he recognised it immediately. "Ron?"

"Dudley, stop!" came a girl's voice from the side of him.

He spun around and saw Hermione and Neville standing behind a green tapestry. He then swung back around to look at the person he'd thrown. "Harry?"

"Yeah, its me," Harry groaned, and pushed himself up against the wall. "Ow."

"Are you okay?" He dropped Ron, as he went to Harry. "What the hell are you lot doing here?"

"'They were going to have a duel with Malfoy," Hermione whispered, crossing her arms.

_The Midnight Duel,_ _of course._ Dudley's mind jolted, as he face-palmed himself. "Malfoy's not coming, so you guys need to get back to the tower ASAP."

"Well, _that_'s not happening," Harry whispered, kneeling down by Ron.

"Why, Harry?" Neville quivered.

"Because Ron's been K.O'D." Harry looked up to Dudley, and they both nodded.

"Lightweight," they agreed.

"Oh well, that's just great!" Hermione threw her arms into the air. "I knew this was going to happen. This is entirely your fault, I would never…"

"Stop right there!"

Everyone's stomachs dropped. It was Filch.

"I've got you now." He smiled nastily, and even Mrs Morris seemed to be smiling, her fangs shining in the moonlight, as she and her master came closer.

"Thanks, Hermione, could you yell a little louder next time." Dudley reached into his pocket and stepped forward to meet the grubby man. "Actually, we have a note, Mr Filch." He handed him the note.

"No, _you_ do. What about them?" Filch snorted, and nodded to Dudley's back. "What's wrong with him?"

Dudley looked around at the others, and saw Hermione, Neville and Harry standing in front of Ron, trying to hide the redhead lightweight. "Him? Oh, well, isn't it obvious? Err… Due to the lack of light, he walked into a-a-wall? A wall."

He stuffed a piece of paper into Filch's hand and turned quickly, picking up Ron as he passed, tossing him over his shoulder. The four conscious first years power-walked, and then once they were around the corner, they ran to Gryffindor tower.

"Why are we running?" Hermione panted from behind them.

"Because I couldn't find my note and just gave Filch a Weasley sweet!" Dudley yelled back.

"WHAT?" Suddenly, Hermione overtook the three boys.

8

"Is he dead?" Neville said, looking over Ron's body, which Dudley had lay on one of the red sofas in the common room.

"No, go to bed, Neville." Harry yawned, he knelt down with his head resting on the same cushion as Ron's. "Me and Dud can handle it from here."

Neville looked to Dudley, who nodded to the stairs. Neville paused for a second before sulking off to the dorms.

"He's gonna have one bright one tomorrow," Dudley said, leaning over the back of the sofa and lifting Ron's ginger fringe out of his eyes. "It's already swelling."

Harry looked at Ron, paused, and then looked at Dudley. "Thanks."

"For what?" It always amazed Dudley how the human body reacted to injuries, as he lightly touched the darkening skin above and under Ron's left eye. _In a different life, perhaps I would have been…_ He smiled to himself. _How many lives do I need?_

"You know."

"Yeah. Wait…" Dudley looked up, frowning with confusion. He shook his head. "What?"

"You knew that if McGonagall saw me flying, she'd make me Seeker. Ron thinks it's a big deal, and I really think I like flying, so…" Harry sighed, rubbing his eyes. "Thank you."

"Well…that's what family is for." Dudley felt himself becoming embarrassed.

"Yeah…" Harry stood up and started to walk around the sofa. "I'm glad…to have you here, you're family and I know…" He was also beginning to redden, as his lips started wobbling. "I mean I'm happy…I'm glad that I have you to look out for me."

"Stop it." Dudley pulled Harry into his chest. "You're gonna make me blubber, and I ain't no god damned Weasley."

Harry snorted into his chest. "Thanks Dudley."

Dudley squeezed him, and pushed him away so that he could look into Harry's eyes. His glasses were askew, as Dudley took him by the shoulders. "I'll always look out for you. I'll always protect you. And I swear…"

"Dudley? Your nose is bleeding."

"Harry."

"No, Dudley, it's really bleeding."

Dudley reached up and touched his lip, but he could already taste it in the back of his throat. He looked to Harry. "It's okay." There was fear in Harry's eyes, and it wasn't something Dudley was used to. "No, really. Grab Ron and we'll go see Pomfrey. Come on." He pulled Harry to him again.

"It's nothing, Harry." Dudley looked at his fingers behind Harry's back. They were dripping with blood, and as he turned his hand round, it was blue. "It's nothing."


	11. It bleeds when cut, hurting

Big Thanks to Beta Storyseeker

**It bleeds when cut, hurting**

Madam Pomfrey finished with Ron, leaving him with the black eye as a lesson, but a lesson for _what_ exactly she didn't elaborate. Dudley held out his arm for her to check over. It was swollen, dark and looked very angry.

"Why did not you show me _this_ first? This is going to take me all night." She scowled, as she withdrew her wand, and glanced at Ron's face. "Two broken wrists _in one day_. It boggles the mind and drives one to frustration."

"It's broken then?" He sighed in relief. In the Muggle world, he would definitely being freaking out right now, but a broken wrist in a place where they can re-grow bones…he wasn't worried. "See, Harry, I'm fine. It doesn't hurt either."

"That is because your nerves seem to have died." Pomfrey frowned, looking at the wrist. "Odd. You should have brought this to me much sooner." She ran the length of her wand across the darkened skin. "You have put a very serious injury in our hands, Mr Dursley. I won't ask _how_ you did it."

"Good, because I don't know _how _I did it. I'm pretty sure that it happened today though." Which was _almost_ true, as he could have done it this morning on Draco's broom, or tonight on Ron's face, or possibly it was a combination of both.

Halfway through Pomfrey's wand touching his skin and emitting a pleasant blue glowing shimmer, a sharp pain suddenly shot up his arm. His wrist, and then his whole arm, started to shake violently, turning and rapidly twisting from side to side, clicking and cracking gruesomely out of Dudley's control. It lasted for only a few seconds though.

There was pause. "Ah, ah…ow," he moaned, and stared at his hand wide-eyed, in much the same way Harry, Ron and surprisingly Madam Pomfrey were.

Ron sank to the floor, but Harry caught him before he did. "I think…I think I'm gonna be sick." Lucky for everyone, Ron wasn't.

Madam Pomfrey held her wand to the light of the brass bedside lamp. "I didn't even start yet. I had only just started setting the bones." She took hold of Dudley's arm and pointed the tip of her wand into the skin. Several bright lights illuminated under his skin, similar to a red glow when holding a hand over a torch produced, although more colourful, they swarmed like flies, and moving together like tentacles.

He raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing?"

She said nothing, as her eyes were entirely focused on the lights. He followed her gaze. The lights travelled up his arm, little black pin dots were highlighted against it. They crumbled, as the lights continued to travel until his whole body was aglow, and then they slowly faded. Throughout it all, Madam Pomfrey had stared so intensely at Dudley's forehead that he was he was surprised she didn't drill a hole in it.

There was a deepness in her eyes that wasn't there before, as he caught her eye, and he knew. "Oh…" He just knew something was not right. "I see…"

"I don't, Dudley?" Harry's confusion was tragic to him, as he looked so young and scared in that moment. It felt…wrong.

"It means nothing, Harry, like I said." He turned. "Isn't that_ right, _Madam Pomfrey."

She looked at him. "Mr Dursley…"

"_Isn't that right, _Madam Pomfrey," he said more forcefully. "All I need is a little rest, yes?"

"Yes…quite right." The look in Pomfrey's eyes showed that she understood his tone. "Now, Mr Potter, I believe you could do with the same. You can visit Mr Dursley at first light."

"But I want to stay." Harry reached over and squeezed his hand. His heart wrenched, as he looked to Pomfrey.

"Mr Potter, I also need you to take Mr Weasley back to Gryffindor tower." Ron was looking rather tired, as his eyes were almost as red as his hair. "You can visit Mr Dursley at first light. Go, now." Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms, stating that negotiations were over.

"Goodnight, Harry," Dudley said, smiling. Harry let go of his hand, and helped Ron from the other bed. The two of them walked in toe to the doorway.

"Goodnight, Dudley." Harry held his hand up, as he walked behind the door.

"Night, mate." Ron waved sluggishly, before he was pulled backwards by Harry.

Madam Pomfrey looked down at him again, a touch of weariness sitting in the corner of her eyes. "Mr Dursley, I think I should expla…"

"Shhh, I can't hear walking. Harry!" There came a noise from the doorway, and then the sound of movement. Dudley mentioned with his eyes to the door, and Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand, making the door lever shut and the curtains around the bed slide together.

"I can charm the curtains if you like, Mr Dursley. Or we could wait until your parents…"

"NO!" He sat up sharply, surprising Pomfrey. "Sorry, no. Could you charm the curtains? Don't tell the Dur…my parents." Pomfrey opened her mouth, and he knew what she was going to say. "Not yet, don't tell them yet. They wouldn't understand, and I'd have to explain it to them, and it saves you explaining twice."

Madam Pomfrey stared into Dudley's eyes, which were stern, challenged and stubborn. "Very well. Your wrist was broken and had begun to die…"

"Yes, I know that bit. What else did you find?"

"After I set the bone, it…it recovered, on its own."

"Yes, yes. That's unusual, I take it?" Was this woman thick? Did she not realise that his wrist was attached to him at the time?

Pomfrey paused, the kind of pause that hinted at a much more complicated answer than was about to be given. "Yes. Have you heard of accidental magic?"

Dudley nodded. Of course he had.

"Well, under certain conditions, magic can reach out and protect a wizard. It is one main way in which wizards discover they have magic." Dudley nodded. "Self-healing, however, is a much rarer phenomenon." She paused again, and an hour seemed to tick by. "And although wizards do heal far faster than would be possible if they were…not magical, I believe your body has _accelerated_ internal healing. It is advantageous in many ways." There was more, as Dudley could feel it as she spoke. "Self-healing, however, is sloppy. A case of survival for the day rather than a lifelong cure."

"Okay." He closed his eyes for fear he would hit this old woman if she didn't get to the point soon, but under it all he knew where this was going. "I follow, so far."

"In your case, Mr Dursley, this type of 'accidental healing' seems to have happened at a much larger scale than I have ever seen. There is such_ trauma _all the way through you. It is as if…"

"I was struck by lightning," he stated.

"That…that would explain…" she trailed off, but he could see she was…embarrassed of doing so? "They, the doctors…Muggle Healers, they didn't find any injuries? None that they couldn't fix?"

"I don't know. My hands were the worst." Dudley held them under the light so that she could see the thin dark scars. "But they couldn't find anything else, not that they didn't try. I think not being able to find an exit wound really threw them. I was in a lot of pain though."

"I see… Mr Dursley, what has happened is that the massive internal damage your magic has repaired, while astonishing, is…"

_Oh no,_ Dudley thought to himself, his emotions mounting.

"…slowly beginning to breakdown." She paused, perhaps waiting for Dudley ask her something.

When he didn't, she continued. "Your magic has created pockets, spaces into which the bleeding from the trauma has been contained. I could treat the pockets of damage in your body from the neck down. There is nothing so serious that I couldn't heal overtime, but…there seems to be a pocket in your brain.

"You can stop, I get it!" Dudley held his nose, and touched his forehead with his other hand. "'I should be dead', 'it's a miracle I'm still alive', I've heard it all before." He dropped his arms by his sides.

"No, Mr Dursley, that is not what I'm saying. As I said, self-healing magic is astonishing but sloppy." Pomfrey looked down at Dudley, holding her wand lengthways in both hands. "You are right, if you were any other wizard you would most certainly be…deceased. But…"

Dudley uncontrollably yawned, and Pomfrey's face hardened.

"What I'm trying to tell you, Mr Dursley, is that there is a pocket or a barrier that could be holding a large quantity of blood from flooding your brain. You need to take this seriously. We are talking about your life."

Dudley stared at Madam Pomfrey. He was _trying_ to take this seriously, but it just felt ridiculous, unreal and plastic. "Fine."

"Mr Dursley, please. I know this is a shock." Madam Pomfrey sighed in frustration. She swept a fallen hair behind her ear. "Mr Dursley, this type of phenomenon really isn't my specialty." There was sternness in her voice now, like a line had been crossed. "Which is why I'm booking you an appointment with someone whom it is." She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. "We will travel to them tomorrow."

She left quite suddenly, or Dudley was so deep in his own thoughts that she just seemed to disappear. Either way, he was alone. As he sat there, in the dark, things started to become clearer. He was in shock.

It was as if Madam Pomfrey's words had been delayed, and were only now starting to make sense. He'd thought he'd grown past this, but he started to feel a familiar numbness in the pit of his stomach.

He fell back onto the white linen, staring endlessly at the moonlight shadows on the ceiling. Inside him, oceans froze, lakes dried and rivers sunk into lightless caverns. He let free the breath he'd been holding since the incident in the tower, as he looked at his wrist.

"Damn," he whispered.

8

Time seemed a bit choppy the next day. Dudley got up, met Harry and Ron in the Great Hall, they had breakfast, and Harry got his broom and went to his first practice with Oliver Wood. Then he met with Madam Pomfrey to go to, he presumed, St Mungo's.

8

Dudley was kind of hoping he and Madam Pomfrey would be going on the night bus, but as an alternative they floo'd from the fireplace in McGonagall's office. She wished him luck before they left.

Apparently, there was no patient confidentiality at Hogwarts.

Bursting into flames was a lot more fun than Dudley had ever guessed it'd be. He didn't fall over or anything either, which was a plus. His stomach felt a bit funny though, like he'd just been on a roller-coaster backwards.

The following disappointment was that they didn't go to St Mungo's, and instead arrived at a cottage that couldn't be any less magical than the Dursleys' house on a rainy day.

Above them, what would have been lovely oak timber frames, had been white washed to an inch of their life. The walls had been covered with some sort of hubris black and white wallpaper that looked to be trying to mimic the famous inkblot tests. One section of the wall was dedicated to a long full bookcase. Little modernist sculptures without shape or meaning sat on condescendingly high Greek-styled pillars in the middle of the room. There was one chair in the corner, and the room had no smell.

Dudley didn't like this place.

The situation was made worse, as they entered the room and turned left, a white corridor with bright white flames flickering overhead in little lanterns. At least he knew it was a wizard's home now, as there was no electricity.

He felt like he was going to be sick, so Madam Pomfrey gave him a tissue from her apron. His nose was bleeding, and the whole house place made his mind itch. At the end of the corridor was a large black door with a silver handle in the centre, which Pomfrey opened.

The new room was white and sterile, and four uncomfortable looking Victorian high-backed black armchairs, which were more like black marble than leather, faced slightly below a mahogany desk. The desk caught Dudley's eye faster than anything else in the room, because it was so out place with everything else. It held a soft hazel brown, and its warmness clashed with the rest of the room's lifeless décor.

"You are Dudley Dursley. Take a seat."

He looked to the man who spoke. He was sitting on the other side of desk, and the first thing Dudley noticed was that he was completely bald. The second was the black and white vestments he wore. The third was his arrogance; it oozed off this man so thickly that he could almost taste it.

Dudley sat down on one of the chairs directly in front of the man. As he sat, he saw Mr and Mrs Dursley looking rather pale on the two chairs to his right. Vernon was sitting closest to Dudley, but was holding hands with Petunia across the void of the two armchairs. She'd looked as if she'd been crying. Neither of them acknowledged him.

He raised an eyebrow, and then turned to the man in the black and white vestments. "You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You know my name, and yet I do not know yours?"

"Well, aren't you a polite young man. My name is Deacon Crow. You may call me Mr Crow." The man smirked thinly. "Poppy tells me that you have an interesting…condition."

He stared at the man, stone-faced.

"I understand this must be hard for you. But there is really nothing to fear."

"Okay, how's this going to work?" Vernon spoke at last.

Mr Crow stood up slowly. He was a tall man. He walked around the desk, his fingers interlocked.

"I will first look into Dudley's skull. If I find this _possible _blood depository…I believe Poppy told you it was a magical pocket, correct?"

Dudley crossed his arms. "Yes."

"From there, I should be able to tell you anything you want to know."

Vernon sat forward. "When can you do…_that_?"

Mr Crow held Vernon's gaze. "Now."

"Now? Here? Right now?" Vernon's eyes widened, and his body seem to swell as Mr Crow extracted a thin white wand from his black sleeve.

"Yes, now." Mr Crow rolled his eyes, as if he was talking to a particularly slow-witted child. "Dudley, could you lay on the table, please."

Dudley suddenly realised why the desk looked so out of place with the room. This wasn't an office, it was a surgery! He bit down, tightening his jaw. "How are you going to examine me?"

"Yes, that's right! You can't just cut the top of his head off here!" Vernon was on his feet.

"He's not going to cut my head off…Dad." He sighed, as Mr Crow laughed. Vernon's face reddened, as he sat back down in his chair. Dudley looked at the Dursleys, who really did look a state. "I think you two should go."

"Diddykins?" Petunia looked at him with sad watery eyes. She looked almost frail.

"Mum, you…you don't want to see him looking into my head. It won't be pleasant."

"We won't go." Vernon took Petunia's hand.

"I'm taking the decision out of your hands, as I really can't have any distractions while I work. So outside, both of you. Poppy, you know where the dining room is. Could you take the Dursleys there? My House-elf will make you tea."

"Elf? Did he say…?" Vernon gripped Petunia's hand.

8

Madam Pomfrey gave Dudley a nod, as she closed the door to Mr Crow's surgery. Mr Crow gestured Dudley to sit on the table.

"Now just lay back, and we'll begin." Mr Crow was sitting in his own black chair at one end of the table. It was higher than all the rest.

Dudley laid himself back on the hard wood. The second his head touched the table he began to sink whilst being waved backwards toward Mr Crow. "Whoa, what's going on?"

"Hmm? Oh, a simple cushioning charm. To help you relax." Dudley continued to be waved until the crown of his head rested off the end of the table, work level for Mr Crow.

"You could have warned me."

"Yes, I could _have_." Dudley felt the tip of Mr Crow's wand touch the top of his head, not long after his whole head became feeling tingly.

"What are you doing now?"

Mr Crow sighed. "I am making your brain visible now, Mr Dursley."

"I'm 'Mr Dursley' now, am I? It was Dudley earlier." He smirked to himself when Mr Crow didn't reply. He felt his head being prodded again, but it was harder this time. They didn't speak for a while.

Mr Crow mumbled to himself. "You're being difficult."

"Excuse me?" Dudley turned to look at Mr Crow. "What?"

Mr Crow was now wearing a pair of goggles, with what looked like gold tinted glass. "The Magic around your skull is being difficult. It's so bright, it's almost as if…"

"As if?" Dudley rolled his hand, waiting for an explanation.

"How old are you?" Mr Crow leaned over Dudley, and looked at him through the goggles. He raised an eyebrow. "My, my, you're absolutely covered."

"Err…11." Dudley's heart began to race. "'Covered' in what?"

"Magic." Crow waved the question away. He leaned back, his figures entwined. "Have you ever heard of…Occlumency, Dudley?"

"Yes…" Dudley answered slowly. What did this Mr Crow mean he was covered in magic? If his understanding of magic was right, then every cell of his body was supposed to be producing magic, taking it from the air, changing it inside him so that he could use it. And what did Occlumency have to do with anything?

"Do you…practice Occlumency?"

He frowned. "Yes, I do."

"You practise Occlumency? But…" Mr Crow raised an eyebrow, and lifted the goggles, resting them on his bald forehead. "You're _eleven_."

Dudley's frown deepened. "So?"

"'So? It's ridiculous. What could _you _possibility need Occlumency for?"

Dudley crossed his arms and looked at the man pointedly "Would kind of ruin the point if I told you, wouldn't it?"

Mr Crow raised both his thin eyebrows. "Whatever the reason, I need you to lower it before I can continue. I can't see a thing."

"See? How can you _see _my magic?"

Mr Crow simply tapped his goggles.

"Oh, right." Dudley closed his eyes, but he had no idea how to lower his Occlumency shield, as that wasn't greatly explained in the book.

"You don't know how, do you?" Mr Crow snorted. "What do they teach you at that school?"

"School? I didn't learn how to use Occlumency at school." Truthfully, he didn't even realise he'd learned it at all really; it was pleasing to know that it worked. "I'm self-taught."

"Impossible. You're eleven. How would you even…I wasn't even able to…" He stopped in mid-sentence. "Close your eyes. I'll help you though it."

8

Time ticked on, and on, and on. Out of the silence grew a suffocating tension. Dudley was sure Mr Crow was finished with whatever he was doing quite a while ago now, but he didn't dare look round. So he waited, and waited.

"I think it would be…"

Dudley turned to look at the bald man. Mr Crow's voice held little of its previous arrogance. "…Wise if I call your parent's back."

"Why?" Though he knew the reason why… Bad news.

"I, I think it would be best if they were here."

"Oh god." Dudley looked at the healer in horror. "I'm dying, aren't I?"

"No." Mr Crow waved his hand and lifted the goggles off.

He stared at Mr Crow, and then closed his eyes. "What then?"

"I will explain, after I get your parents." Mr Crow stood up and left the room.

8

About five minutes later, Dudley was staring into a mirror, which reflected into another mirror, showing him the back of his own head. However, the back of his head wasn't there. Mr Crow's spell was allowing him, and the Dursleys, to see into his brain directly. It was quite easily the coolest thing he'd ever seen, if only the circumstances were different.

"Put the lenses on. Carefully, as they're heirlooms." Dudley, the Dursleys and Madam Pomfrey lifted golden-lensed goggles over their eyes. As they did, a golden hue tainted their vision, and a bright rippling light, about the size of an egg, appeared in Dudley's brain.

"What is it?" Vernon asked.

"Magic," said Mr Crow. "Dense magic pockets. I've seen it before. Never this big and this widespread, however."

"Widespread?" Petunia whimpered.

"Look at his hands and face." Little pinpricks of light could be seen all around Dudley's skin. The scars on his hands, however, were a dark inky blue. "I imagine if we were to strip him, we would see them everywhere. Look there, hundreds in his brain scattered all over. Poppy, I'm afraid your diagnosis is quite wrong, as there are no blood clots."

Petunia let out large sighs of relief. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix it? It's his magic, there's nothing to fix. It's unusual for someone to produce magic in this manor, but there's nothing I, or anyone, can do about it." Mr Crow smirked to himself. "It is truly a fascinating phenomenon. We must monitor it, _learn from it_."

"Produce? What?" Vernon had started to go red again, as he tore the goggles off his face, snapping the straps, and slamming them on the table, narrowly missing Dudley's hand. "What are you going on about?"

"Magic."

Surprised eyes turned to Dudley, as if they'd forgotten he was still there.

"For wizards to…for _us_ to use magic, it has to be produced in such a way that we can manipulate it."

Dudley looked at the four people in the room. He could actually see them producing magic as he spoke. It was marvellous. Pomfrey and Mr Crow had a dim glow about them. It was a little bit like looking at the air above really hot tarmac, except it was radiating towards them rather than away. Surprisingly, Petunia also had a little glow about her, but it wasn't wobbly like the wizards. Vernon, however, was virtually grey.

"Basically, magic is metabolised from the air, and reproduced within the body." He looked into the mirror. "I'm doing it differently. That's why…" He stopped in mid-thought, as he saw something in the mirror. _It can't be!_ His mind jolted and reeled.

The dots of light all over his face! At a glance, they looked…random, like flecks, but as Dudley connected them together. _My face!_ It couldn't be, but it was. He could see his _real _face. The egg sized light that was in-between his frontal lobes expanded, attracting everyone's gaze, and the spots in his brain suddenly brightened, spreading out like a network of intertwining roots.

Dudley shut his eyes. No one could know! His Occlumency shield shot up automatically. When he opened his eyes, the whole of the top of his head was a bowl of light. He felt a single blood droplet fall on his top lip.

Everyone was covering their eyes, except for Vernon who was looking around himself, terrified. Dudley felt something by his hand. It was the goggles. With hardly any thought into it, he stashed them into his pocket whilst everyone was distracted.

"Well," Mr Crow said slowly. "That was…interesting." He took off the goggles and rubbed his eyes. He was smirking. "And your son is almost right."

"Almost?" Dudley scoffed, and Pomfrey shot him a look.

"Yes, 'almost'." Mr Crow turned to the Dursleys. "Usually, a wizard's magic is equal to taking 'one' from the environment and producing 'one' in the body and distributing it evenly around the body at once. Dudley is somehow taking 'one' from environment, and producing 'two' while forming dense clusters areas. It then spreads out through some sort of network. It's very efficient. The Ministry would be very interested in you, Dudley."

"Yes." He swallowed. "I'm sure they would."

"What are you lot talking about? 'One' what?" Vernon was shaking, his face turning its familiar scarlet hue. Dudley and Mr Crow sighed in frustration.

"Mr Dursley, all you need to know is this… This condition your son has, in the past cases, has not been harmful. However, this is uncharted territory, and I've never seen _it _this strongly."

"'IT' what?" Vernon slammed his fist on the desk, and Petunia let out a whimper.

8

It was getting dark by the time Dudley and Madam Pomfrey got back. He left her company, leaving and ignoring McGonagall, as he coldly fled her office. He needed to get out of there, he needed to think, but what he really wanted…was a drink.

Today had been a seesaw of emotion and tension. Yes, oh yes, he did need a drink, and he needed one now! He turned the corridor, leading to the Room of Requirement, as he knew there were bottles in there, having seen them before. However, as he came round the corner, he was met with Fred and George fiddling with a piece of paper, taping it with their wands. Fred tried to stuff it into his robe pocket, as Dudley drew near.

"Is that the Marauder's Map?" Dudley said dryly. To be honest, he couldn't be arsed with all the lying and pretending, not now, not today. "I thought you were going to stop spying on me."

The twins stared at Dudley, both with mortified expressions. "How do you know about the map?" they hissed in a whisper. "Besides, your cousin asked us to find you."

"Err, I can't deal with Harry right now." He groaned, rolling his eyes, as he really wasn't in the mood. "As for the map, my uncle made it. You said you were going to stop…"

"Your uncle? But I thought…who's your uncle?" George looked at Fred, or possibly the other way around, and then turned back to Dudley.

Dudley sighed. It didn't look like he was going to get that drink tonight. Well, that was just _great_. "Honestly, guys, I don't even care anymore. Give me the map." He held out his hand.

The twins looked at each other again, and Fred sheepishly handed him the map. Dudley took out his wand and tapped it, uttering the password. "I solemnly swear I'm up to…" He looked up to the now lacklustre twins, and a wicked thought popped into his head. He smirked. "…No good."

The twins looked at each apprehensively.

"I think you guys could do with a drink."

8

"So this is the Hog's Head." It was dark, darker than the cloudy sky blocking the moonlight. It looked creepy and, of course, dingy, and, like all wizarding constructs, slightly warped.

"Are you sure they'll serve us?" Fred piped up from Dudley's side, eyeing the building uncertainly.

George whispered quietly from behind his brother. "Fred, I'm not sure this is a good idea. He's not acting his normal…"

"What's the matter, boys? Are the great Weasley Twins scared? HA!" Dudley walked up to the heavy door, and practically threw it open. "Gaston!" He pulled out a galleon; he'd borrowed from Harry, out of his pocket and threw it on the counter. "Nine shots of Fire-whisky."

"_Nine?"_ one of the twins hissed to the other… It got a little bit foggy after that.

8

"_No-no-no, that's not right!" He was standing in front of a whiteboard. There was a long string of blurry symbols in blue and red. He was angry. _

"_Oh, Nickolas," a woman's voice giggled in an echo around him. "Why don't you try…"_

"Dudley, get up!" Someone was touching him. "Wake up!" He was suddenly thrown off something.

He laid on the floor of the Gryffindor dorm, tied up in his clothes and bed-sheets, looking though a bright red bed-sheet, a dull pain beginning to throb in his skull. "Owwww…my heeeead." He groaned.

"Well, that's your own fault, isn't it! Fred and George said you went out last night and got completely smashed." He could just manage to see Harry's outline through the sheets. Dudley covered his eyes with his hands. Harry did not sound happy, or amused. "You could have at least told me you were back!"

"Harrrry, not soooo loud." He covered his ears. There was the sound of stomping, and the sheet over his head was suddenly pulled free. The light burned his eyes, as he rolled around to hide from it, but Harry pulled the sheet way.

"I was up all night waiting for you, you git!" Harry pulled the back of his shirt. "Get up! It's Monday. We have lessons."

"Meh…" he felt something poke into his side. It was the goggles he'd stolen from Mr Crow. He felt a rush of emotions sweep over him, and then it reached his stomach. "Urr, I'm gonna be sick."

8

I've tried to introduce some new concepts in this chapter, particularly how magic works, as its going to start playing quite a big role in the future...;)


	12. He Knows

Warning, this chapter contains violence, blood and is going to be very existential. Enjoy XD

**He knows!**

Fred and George invited Dudley and Harry to sit with them and the other third years at breakfast. It was a blessing, as Dudley didn't want to have to listen to Ron and the others pestering him all morning because they hadn't a clue about Professor McGonagall's homework assignment.

"You three look wrecked." Lee Jordan leaned in. "Is it true?" Several people turned to listen, while everyone else pretended not to be.

Fred and George sat up a little straighter, as they gloated loftily about how they "just went for a drink at the Hog's Head. No big deal." The twins then starting telling a tall tale of the night-out, like 'how they drunk this one guy under table'.

Dudley snorted, and ignored the looks from the people who were trying, and failing, to hide their points and stares. He thought he spotted Percy approaching the Professors, when he entered the Hall. McGonagall didn't look happy, and Dumbledore just smiled his knowing smile. Dudley suspected that the old man's brother had informed the headmaster.

"D-Dudley?" asked a discreet shy voice. Dudley turned, expect to be facing a female first year, but instead he had to look up. It was a male fifth year Ravenclaw, and he looked as shy as he sounded.

"Professor Flitwick asked me to give you this. It's for choir." The tall student sounded unsure, as he handed Dudley a letter tied in a blue ribbon. The boy's hand was shaking as he did so, and then he disappeared back to his table the second Dudley grasped the letter.

Dudley raised an eyebrow, first at the boy and then at the letter before he neatly ripped it open. He barely read the first line before he let out an enormous groan.

"What is it?" Ron asked.

"Flitwick wants me to sing a song about my first month at Hogwarts as part of some sort of hazing ritual for the choir." Again something not ever mentioned in the books, and it was really starting to annoy him how things weren't the way they were supposed to be, as new things seemed to pop up all the time. Then again, it could just be the hangover talking. He groaned.

"That's why no one joins it," Fred said, over-hearing. "Do you remember Patrick's last year?"

"Oh yeah. I do." a third year said, grimacing. "Poor bloke."

"That's not so…_bad_. More than you deserve." said Harry, as he made a face. "You make up loads of songs all the time." That was true, as he did sing a lot of songs, but he didn't make them up, as some just simply didn't exist in this world. Perhaps Harry was right. All he'd have to do was chose one.

Hermione popped her head around Dudley's shoulder and read the letter. "Hmm…oh, it's during the Halloween feast, so it's in front of the whole school then."

"What?" Dudley pulled the letter closer to his face and re-read the whole thing. "Damn it!" He dropped his head on the table with a thump. "Ow. I am way too hungover to deal…"

"Weasleys! Dursley!"

"Annnnd…" he signed heavily, but regretted doing so as it forced him to smell his own breath. "Here comes McGonagall. Great."

8

It had not been a good couple of days. Someone had told McGonagall about the three boys' trip to the Hog's Head. Not that anyone needed to say anything to McGonagall, as the whole story was broadcasted around the school in five minutes of the twins telling their little tale. Seven months detention, and that was as bad as it got without being sent home.

They had detention with Snape tonight.

Dudley should have been serving his time with Flitwick, as he had been for every other day this week, but Severus had convinced the charms professor that Dudley wasn't getting a serve enough punishment. This, technically, was true. Detention with Flitwick meant long hours of deep discussion and private tutoring, so it was rather beneficial actually.

Dudley pointed his wand at the pile of half rusted cauldrons.

"Snape said not to use magic, wee man," Fred and George warned. They were sitting on the floor next to each other, melodically scouring two cauldrons. The way they worked their cauldrons with the cloth, and periodically shared the slop bucket, hinted strongly that this wasn't their first detention with Snape.

"Snape is just being…Snape." He aimed his wand. "And I don't pay to come here so as _not _to use magic. _Cscour!_" The tip of his wand lit up and began to bubble off a purple and yellow mist. It filled the room with a smell vaguely hinting of lavender and something like citrus.

The mist swirled into a smoke-like cylinder, the end of which began to swallow each cauldron. "Only four seconds each for a deep clean, so it's working quite well, isn't it?" He moved the smoke cylinder to the next cauldron.

"That's a useful little spell, where'd you learn it?" George pushed his cauldron towards Dudley's smoke stream.

"_Madam Mother's: How To Please Your Husband_. It's well sexist, but has some very useful tips on how to clean things." And several other things that Dudley wasn't about to bring up with the thirteen-year-olds.

"Why would you need to know how to clean things?"

"In case I have to get a summer job to pay off my Gringotts loan. School doesn't pay off itself." It was also because Dudley hadn't forgotten about how dirty Sirius's house was, and he wasn't going to do it by hand if he didn't need to. Dudley had already had one lifetime having to do everything by hand, so he wasn't about to have another.

"Yeah, it does." George frowned. "Don't you get the fund thingy?"

Dudley stiffened. "What 'fund thingy'?"

"Err, Hogwarts has a fund for people who can't afford to go. You didn't know?"

Dudley felt himself slowly glowing red. The spell dissipated, as he dropped his wand. "Bloody EFFING Goblins!" He didn't say _effing_ though.

In his anger, Dudley swiped his wand on the stone floor and grazed his knuckles. He pointed his wand back at the cauldrons. "_Csour_…Hagrid!" he interrupted himself, disrupting the spell again. "_He_ didn't say anything either. Merlin! You know what else…" He kicked one of the cauldrons, shooting it through the air and hitting the wall with a clang. "Harry actually wants me to pay him back for us going out!" He poked himself hard in the chest.

"Can you believe it? He's already got all the Potter fortune at his fingertips, and if that's not enough he gonna get the Bla…" He caught himself. "Bloody goblins." He sneered instead. "Where does he think I'm gonna get them the money to pay them back? He wouldn't even be here if wasn't for me." That was a big lie if he ever told one.

"Err…"the twins looked at him with astonishment. "Well, after you've finished with your little mood-swing," Fred and George shared a look, "you could always consider making some coin by helping us…"

"For the last time, I am not letting you test your 'products' on me." Dudley snorted. The twins had been pressuring him to test their 'singing sucker' apparently as a way of 'thanking him' for taking them to the pub. Yeah, right.

"You know McLaggen's got a camera?" Fred smiled at George, and then turned to Dudley. "He's gonna bring it to the feast tomorrow for your big day butt." George and Dudley stared blankly at Fred for a few seconds.

"Day butte? It's début!" George said, shaking his head. "You are so thick sometimes. I can't believe we're related."

Fred threw the content of his slop bucket at his bother. George dived out the way, leaving Dudley completely exposed. Dudley cast the first spell off the top of his head, and he didn't even know what one it was. The oncoming water exploded and drenched the whole classroom…including the three boys.

"Oh well done, Fred." Dudley clapped his hands apathetically, spitting the dripping water out of his mouth. "Well done."

George laughed, and Fred pounced on him. Dudley turned his back and focused on his cauldrons, as an awful idea had begun to brew. Harry didn't need Sirius's money, but Dudley...

Suddenly, Snape burst through the door.

"What is going on in here?" The Professor looked around the room. Fred and George untangled themselves, and quickly stood up to face the Professor.

"Uh-oh," Fred and George said slowly.

"Yep." Dudley agreed.

8

Four hours later, the most part being checked out by Madam Pomfrey in the Hospital Wing for side effects of the slop bucket, Dudley stood over a large fury desk in the Room Of Requirement. Unusually, there was only one book on it, _Gringotts Guide To Banking: Volume 345 by Erwin Strident._

The plan, or rather the idea, was to have a little look at how the systems of passing assets in the wizarding world worked. Before Dudley knew it, he had those two contracts burning in his hands. One would allow the exchange of all Black Family assets to be transferred to Harry. The other would move all Black Family assets to Dudley via Harry, without interfering with the Potter Fortune. Provided all contracts were signed.

He held the two very official looking documents in his right hand that he'd just ripped out the book. As he was thinking about the two papers, he watched as the pages in the book rejuvenated. He made a mental note to find out how the book was doing it.

"I can't do this." Every pragmatic cell in his body was telling him he could. "I really can't do this, this was stupid." He shoved them into his pocket, and snuck back into the Gryffindor tower. In his notebook he wrote about the _Gringotts Guide_ book, as he took off his clothes and got into bed.

"I won't." He closed his eyes. _Not_ so deep down he knew he would. Eventually, all he really needed was for Sirius to sign the document. Getting Harry to would be no problem.

A sharp pain suddenly began to throb in Dudley's hands, along his scars. He frowned and rubbed his palm on his bed covers, and then his hands started to really tingle.

"Dud? That you?" It was Seamus, sitting upright in his bed. "What yer doing?" he whispered.

"My hands," Dudley replied, though he immediately wished he'd just said nothing. "There must be a storm coming, or something. They usually start tingling then." Seamus climbed out of his bed and looked out the window.

"It's all clear. Do they really tingle before a storm? I've never heard of that happing before."

"Yeah, well, not many wizards get hit by lightning." O_r have my physiology,_ Dudley thought to himself, as he'd never considered the tingling unusual, a quirk perhaps, but nothing more. However, considering what Mr Crow said about him being different… another thing to add to the research list.

"One of the Weasleys got hit by lightning once, I think. Ron said." Seamus sat at the end of Dudley's bed.

"To be honest…" Dudley looked at the boy, and smiled. "I'm not at all that surprised." He laughed to himself, then thought of the silence that followed. It was one that usually happened when someone wanted to ask you something, but they didn't want to outright say it.

Seamus huffed. "Dudley…?"

"Yes, Seamus?" He was now shaking and blowing on his hands, and they actually felt hot, and it almost felt like they were…buzzing?

"You know how you're really good at charms and stuff...Harry and Ron says you help them sometimes and…"

"Yeah, I do." Not completely true, as Dudley was far too busy to really help Harry and Ron out except on the odd occasion when he'd helped them with some of their wand work. "Go on."

"Err, well, can you sorta help me? I'm really not gettin' it."

"Yeah. What? Oh yeah, sure, when I get the chance." The pain finally went, and Dudley rested his arms on the covers. "Actually I could probably start charging them two, see how Harry likes it."

Seamus laughed polity and walked other to his bed. "Thanks, Dud. Oh." Seamus looked out the window again. "There are some clouds now, so maybe yer right. Err, get off, Scabbers!"

"I'm always right." Dudley whispered back. Seamus laughed from his bed, a real one this time.

"Would you two shut up? And go to sleep!" it was Harry; there were groans of agreement in the darkness.

Dudley smiled to himself.

8

Dudley's hands throbbed intermittently the next day, as the clouds rolled over Hogwarts, threatening to open and rain hell any moment. However, the pain didn't bother Dudley too much.

It was _the_ big day…or one of them. Dudley had marked out any 'key foreseeable events' on a calendar in one of his notebooks, not that he remembered many anymore. This one, however, he remembered well.

It was Halloween, Quirrel would free the troll, Ron would insult Hermione, and everyone would be friends. Or at least that was what was supposed to happen. But right now it was charms, and Dudley had been paired with Seamus.

"Winggardium levosa." Seamus wand sparked for the third time, but nothing happened.

"Are you taking the piss?" Dudley stared at Seamus. "Or are you just retarded?"

"Don't be a git, Dud. It's a hard spell." Seamus whined.

"Is it?" Dudley said sarcastically. "Is it really, though?"

"Just cos you can do it, don't make it easy!" Seamus snapped back. Dudley looked over to Harry and Neville, both who were quickly trying to turn back to their feathers, smiling to each other.

"Alright. Fair enough, Seamus." He sighed. "The words are 'wingardium leviosa'. You have to actually _move_ your wand when you say them, okay? Remember, 'swish and flick'." Dudley demonstrated with his own wand.

"Wingar…"

"No," Dudley interrupted. "You started your swish way too early. Try again." Seamus groaned. "Alright, let me help. Give me yer hand."

"What? Why?" Seamus looked at him funny.

"I'll do the movement, you say the words. Okay?"

"But it'll look like we're holding hands." Seamus looked around the classroom uneasily.

"Like it matters, mate. Here." Dudley took hold of Seamus's hand. "On the count of 3. 1 – 2 – 3, swish and flick."

"_Wingardium Leviosa." _The feather began to rise and hover over the desk, albeit shakily.

"Are you holding hands?" Lavender, and Dean, looked over from beside them.

"No!" Seamus pulled his hand free, his cheeks going red. The feather dropped.

"Yes. Obviously," Dudley said, rolling his eyes. "I'm helping him with the wand movement. Cos he's abysmal!"

"Oh, okay." Dean turned back to the Ravenclaw he'd been paired with, and Lavender slowly turned back to her partner and giggled.

Dudley turned to Seamus and raised an eyebrow. "See. You want to try again?" He held out his hand.

Seamus looked around again, and sighed. "Go on then."

Dudley took hold of Seamus's hand again. "On the count of 3. 1 – 2 – 3, swish and flick."

"_Wingardium Leviosa." _This time the feather began to rise into the air. Dudley noticed Hermione's feather had also begun to drift upwards.

"Well done, well done, both of you!" Professor Flitwick was doing his fast clapping again.

Dudley could hear Ron huffing behind him, and he smiled. He slowly let go of Seamus's hand, so the boy could do it on his own. Then…WHOOSH…for a second the room flashed bright white. Seamus yanked his hand away from Dudley's, as if he'd been stung.

Everyone in the class went quiet, as thunder roared overhead and rumbled the windows.

"Well…" Flitwick looked a little shaken, as he turned back to the class. "It looks like the storm has started. Let's get back to work, shall we? Yes, yes."

"That sounded really near." Dudley heard Hermione whisper.

8

By the time lesson ended, 'really near' had turned into 'hit the castle' and everyone piled out, excitedly gossiping. Except Dudley, as he didn't want to accidentally interfere when Ron made his comment, just in case it screwed things up with Hermione and the troll. Dudley made light conversation with Flitwick until it was all clear.

"I don't see why learning the orchestra charm is so important, Dudley. Besides, my boy, you've already got it down, and it's a third year spell!" the little man said, excited as always.

"I just don't want to make a fool of myself." Dudley also hadn't forgotten it was the day he was supposed to be singing, not that Flitwick ever asked how his rehearsals were going or offered to help. The twins helped him a lot, particularly with casting the orchestra charm. It was even they that had suggested it.

"Yes, well, wish me luck."

"For what?" the Professor asked, pushing a pile of books taller than he was into an open cupboard.

Dudley rolled his eyes. "I'll see you later, sir."

As he strolled out the door, he almost collided with Seamus who was waiting behind it, rubbing his hands together. "Hey, Dud."

"Hey?" He looked Seamus up and down, wondering how long he had been standing there? "What's up?"

"I was kinda hoping we could start, you know…charms."

"Mmm, oh! Right, yeah, completely forgot. Well, let's get some dinner first, shall we?" He had totally forgotten about Seamus' request. They started to make their way to the hall.

"Dud? Does Flitwick call you Dudley?" Seamus asked, as they turned the corner.

"Um, yes."

"Why?"

"He respects me, I suppose."

"Oh." There was another pause and silence. "Do you like Ron?"

Dudley stopped. _What an odd question?_ He looked at the Irish boy. "What?"

"Oh no, I don't mean…I meant, you know, as a mate. You two don't seem to get along, and I just thought that maybe you didn't like him. Or maybe you just don't like people."

"Don't like people? What are you on about?"

"Well, it's just, me-me and Dean were saying…Well, everyone was, that you don't really have any friends other than Harry, and he's kinda your cousin so it doesn't really count and…"

"I'm friends with the twins."

"Yeah, but they don't really count either, do they, cos their friends with everyone."

Dudley started at the short Irish boy. "Seamus, I'm a bit confused as to what you're trying to ask me. So could we talk about it later, because I have a song to sing, apparently."

"Err…" Seamus seemed to shudder, and his shoulders sank. "Mmm…Dudley, about the singing…"

Dudley tensed, as he knew that tone. It was the same one that Harry used when he'd had to fess up to something. He drew himself up to his full height. "What about it, Seamus?"

"Itsprankbythetwins!" Seamus blurted out all at once, without making eye contact. "It was Harry and Ron's idea. Me and Dean thought it was pretty mean, and, well, we…I thought that if I told you…"

"I would help you with your work?" He felt cold all over. A prank? A trick? Harry's idea? Why? "How many people were in on it? And if Dean thinks the way you do, then where is he?"

"Umm, everyone knows about it." Seamus looked down at his feet. "Dean's waiting for us, in an empty classroom."

"I see." Dudley frowned. "Well then, there's no point in giving them lot the satisfaction of my presence, is there." Dudley bit down on his lower lip, as he turned around.

"Err…okay, I'll show you where to go." Seamus grabbed Dudley's arm and started down the hallway. Dudley followed, but allowed the smaller boy to lead him.

Why the hell would Harry and the twins pull something like this? What was the point? He'd spent hours trying to master the orchestra charm, the twins even… Oh, the bastards! They'd been trying to get him to buy their stuff as well. That was it! It was one thing to pull a prank, but a con! Screw that! He didn't care if they were only thirteen, they were gonna get it the next time he…

"Err." He slowed down. Seamus turned around and looked at Dudley suspiciously, and smiled at him. "What's that smell?" Dudley looked around and sniffed. He hadn't even paid attention to where Seamus was taking him, and now they were in the bloodily dungeon!

Dudley's heart dropped. "Seamus, we need to get out of here now!" He took hold of Seamus's arm. They had to get out of here now before…Seamus wasn't moving.

"Seamus, we have to…" Dudley turned around, but it wasn't Seamus he was holding onto, it was…nothing. There was no one there.

Before Dudley could even comprehend what had just happened, the sound of two heavy feet coming down the corridor grabbed his focus.

He turned to run, but at the end of the corridor a massive wall of ice sealed off the exit. He looked around for rooms, doors, anything, but there were only stonewalls. He was trapped. At the end, the other end of the corridor, a massive shadow appeared, and a grey tree-trunk sized leg came into view.

Dudley pulled out his wand. At least that was still real. Where the hell had Seamus gone? _NO! _His mind yelled. _Troll now, Seamus later!_ Dudley griped his wand with all his might, as he tore through his mind for spells. _Damn it! Think! _The Troll turned the corner.

Dudley wasn't sure what hit him first, the smell or the fear. The Troll stared right at him, and it was excruciating, as he could almost see the cogs in its head turning. A blue tongue slipped out between the grey giant's lips, and licked them. It smiled at him.

Dudley pointed his wand straight at its throat. He needed his other hand to steady his arm, as he stared back at the creature. "P-piss off!" _Oh great, famous last words,_ he thought, trembling. The Troll started to come forward, and there wasn't much distance between them, so it would be on him soon.

"_Sectumsempra!"_ The spell shot out of the end of Dudley's wand and hit the Troll in the chest. The Troll didn't even notice.

Dudley stood petrified. That was the strongest spell he knew! He tried to think, madly trying to find some way of escape. He ran towards the wall of ice, both in blind panic and rage, but even as he ran toward it, he knew the ice was too thick. _This isn't Fair!_

The Troll chased him, making a deep rumbling noise with its throat, laughing. Before Dudley had even managed to reach the ice, he found himself being pulled into the air and squeezed by the free hand of the Troll, and suddenly thrown forward towards the ice.

There was one moment, a second just before Dudley made contact with the wall, that he realised that he _was_ going to be crushed to death by a Troll on a wall of ice in the dungeons of Hogwarts, and no one was coming…and there was nothing in his power to stop it.

His life didn't flash before his eyes, and the world and time didn't slow down, like all the myths said they would. Instead, he watched with a horrified emptiness with all the helplessness of a new born; his own terrified reflection, as he came hurtling into it.

He felt the cold touch of the ice, and then his mind was torn away from Dudley Dursley's body, and he just kept going. Not forwards, up or out. In every angle, Nicholas's mind, Nicklaus Larkin's mind, stretched out. But it was also like it didn't have to, as it seemed to stretch out forever and everywhere all at once. He couldn't feel anything, not even the ill feeling he wanted to feel.

8

Nicholas/Dudley was not a spirit. It was like he was pure magic, pure consciousness, and he had been like this before, after he was Nicholas, but before he was Dudley. He was this, for a moment in time, he was this; a different form of himself, a greater being. He was ~He~.

~He~ was everywhere. ~He~ could see everything. ~He~ was everywhere at once and nowhere at all, and for a nano-second it was as if…

~He~ knew the whole thing, everything that had happened, everything that will happen, and then…

~He~ saw Harry making Ron apologise to Hermione on her way to the girls' bathroom whilst 'Dudley' was talking to Flitwick in the charms classroom. ~He~ saw the Troll swing around _Dudley's_ mangled corpse, like it was some sort of plaything. ~He~ saw Harry, Ron and Hermione in the Great Hall at that very moment, talking merrily as they devoured the Halloween feast with everyone else.

~He~ saw Seamus sitting next to Dean, pouring water on the back of his hand. ~He~ saw a rat turn into a boy and then turn morph into a snivelling man, standing in front of Quirrel just outside the Great Hall.

"It is done, Master. The Dursley boy is dead," the man grovelled.

"Excellent. Potter will be destroyed!" Quirrell clasped his hands together, and an eerily raspy voice whispered, _"And Dumbledore will lose his job, or at least be suspended from the castle long enough for me to get the stone. Now is the time, Quirrell. Do not fail me again!"_

_NO!_

~He's~ mind reached out across time, setting into motion a turn of events before retracting like an elastic band, hurling itself into Dudley's corpse.

8

Dudley gasped and sucked at the air. At that moment, pain was all he knew. It built up his world, imprisoned Dudley in an inferno of pain in every vein. But then the pain lessened, and then lessened again. It started to drop like a stone into deep dark well.

Suddenly, Dudley could hear his own bones snapping back into place, and realised that until that moment he couldn't hear, see, smell or taste anything. Dudley could hear screaming, and as the pain dropped again he knew two different things were doing it, him and also something else…the Troll.

An eternity seemed to pass before he was able to move again, and then another before he could roll over and stop screaming. As he rolled on to his side, he came face to face with the Troll, its body contorted in front of Dudley's eyes. Dudley imagined some sort of magic umbilical core attached to it and him, trading health with every break of the Troll's bones, and prolonged tortured scream.

Dudley felt…better.

By the time Dudley was almost at full health and could move again, something seemed…wrong. It was like his mind was moving his body, without him thinking it. Dudley was a passenger in both his own body and mind, as a reminisce of…

~He~ took control.

~He~ claimed Dudley's fallen wand from the cobbles of the corridor, and took hold of the Troll's head, pushing it back and pointing the wand at it's neck. ~He~ didn't even have to call out a spell, as a bright light erupted from the end of his wand. A burst of magic hit Dudley, the passenger_. _

_Perhaps draining what was left of the Trolls magic-life-force…whatever._ _This is mad!_ Dudley thought. _I'm being possessed by himself for Merlin's sake!_

A huge burst of blood splattered across Dudley's already blood-soaked robes. Dudley the passenger watched out his own eyes, as ~He~ grabbed the Troll's head and cradled it under his arm. ~He~ turned to the frozen wall of ice, and with a wave of his hand the ice evaporated, and then ~He~ was running.

With each passing second, Dudley could feel himself regaining control. He could feel ~him~ weakening, and could also feel the blood pouring out his nose. Dudley knew, and he wasn't sure how, but if ~He~ didn't leave his body soon, Dudley would die…again.

~He~ didn't stop running, as the urgency was too great. It didn't take long for Dudley to realise where. ~He~ was taking him to the Great Hall. As they arrived, Quirrell was just running in. ~He~ didn't slow down.

"Troll! Troll in the dungeon!"

~He~ threw the Troll's head with what must have been unnatural strength. It flew true, and hit Quirrell, lifting the man into the air.

"VOLDEMORT!" he cried out.

~He~ threw Dudley's hand out, as light exploded forth, capturing the airborne man. Black smoke exploded out of the lightning cage and thundered towards Dudley. There were gasps of horror, as a pillar of black smoke flew through him. Pain again shook everywhere through him.

Voldemort shot upwards into the enchanted ceiling, the dark mark printing itself out on the clouds.

~He~ threw Dudley's hand up, and the ceiling exploded with waves of lightning. And then ~He~ was gone.

Dudley looked around at all the shocked faces. _Oh, so_ _time slows down now,_ he thought.

"I wanna keep the head," was all Dudley could manage, before he collapsed.


	13. Golden Slumber and The ThunderThrower

Hi everyone, for this chapter I do suggest listening to K.d. Lang's version of 'golden slumbers' and Bruno Mars's Talking To The Moon., if you don't know them already of course ;)

Also a big thank you to my new Beta Storyseeker. And another thank you to people who reviewed but I didn't manage to PM because for some reason the reply network was down.

**13 Golden Slumber, and The Thunder-Thrower**

The second that Dudley closed his eyes, Nicklaus opened his. It was almost like a blink-sleep, but instead of night into day, he was in the middle of a busy road. People without faces walked on the paths, cars quizzing past, and horns blaring. Nicklaus was staring upwards at the moon, but it was wrong, because the road was bathed in sunlight, yet above was the night sky. How could the moon and stars be out in the day? And even, though it was all wrong, he couldn't remember why?

Nicklaus abruptly and uncontrollably took a ravenous, extensive and suffocated deep-breath. It seemed to drag all the air around him into the very lowermost depths of his lungs; the force of it rising him off the tarmac.

Once it stopped, Nicklaus collapsed onto his hands and knees, coughing. At first, Nicklaus thought he'd gone deaf. Unable to stand, he lay on his side, and then rolled onto his back. He spread his arms out against the ground, but it was no longer the road. The buildings, the cars and the people were all gone, everything but the moon.

~ BUT THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND

YOU'RE ALL I HAVE

YOU'RE ALL I HAVE

AT NIGHT WHEN THE STARS

LIGHT UP MY ROOM

I SIT BY MYSELF

TALKING TO THE MOON

TRYING TO GET TO YOU ~

Nicklaus sprang up and ripped at his ears, pulling out two red and gold headphones, his heart hammering in his chest. He stood up, utterly confused, as he rubbed his ears and reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone? It wasn't any make he recognised. The screen was as big as his hand. He squeezed it, and the screen popped up and slid sideways, revealing another screen, which then slotted back against the other screen, and flashed on.

"Bruno Mars, Playlist?" He stared at the device. Who did it belong to? He knew it wasn't his. _Oh, it must be..._ Nicklaus' mind went blank. Someone suddenly dropped their forearm on Nicklaus head and drummed their fingers on his forehead. Startled, Nicklaus spun around.

Music seemed to surge behind him as he turned. Clouds of multi-coloured smoke erupted all around him, and a huge half-dome materialised out of the smoke. Peoples' screams of joy filled Nicklaus ears as lights shone out from, what was rapidly becoming apparent, a stage. And then Bruno Mars appeared, singing.

Nicklaus tried to back up, but was stopped by another body. A feeling of nervousness, excitement and an intense anticipation washed over him with the collision, the feeling lifting him again off the ground. He felt two trembling and attentive hands slowly come around him, enveloping him in a light hug, swaying with him to the music.

~ At night when the stars

light up my room

I sit by myself

Talking to the Moon

Trying to get to you ~

Nicklaus reached for the hands, slim in his own. He took hold of them and turned to see whom they belonged to. Silence fell, and then like a flash, the people, the stage and Bruno Mars all sank away. The hands fell through Nicklaus' fingers like sand made of silk. However, unlike everything else, they drifted away from him on a non-existent wind.

A thunderous roar burst forth from the sky above. Nicklaus looked up; rain fell from the clear night sky. He began to lift higher through the rain, into space. Moonlight stole his gaze, brighter and clearer than he had ever seen it before. It was beautiful.

"Like a pearl…" Nicklaus whispered. He felt cold all over, and he realised that he was trembling. He was confused and angry, and was missing something really, really important. Why couldn't remember? Silver eagles silently flew out from behind the moon and gently took hold him of his arms.

Slow music waved around him, but it was not Bruno Mars this time. It was softer, quieter, with piano keys touching with care, _almost like a…lullaby?_ Nicklaus felt the silver feathers of the eagles on his skin, caressing him with each perfectly timed swing. Gradually, Nicklaus began to float back down to earth. He knew this song, he realised, as he closed his eyes.

"~ Once there was a way to get back homeward, ~" Nicklaus could feel his fingers touching the keys, his voice coming out from between his lips. He was no longer in control. He was just an observer.

A band behind Nicklaus began to join in with him, playing just as smoothly. "~ Once there was a way to get back home ~" His eyes fluttered open. He could see his hand playing, and he was wearing some sort of suit, no a tux.

_Since when could I play the piano_? He questioned himself, but there was no answer.

"~ Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry ~" He had red cufflinks with gold lions on. But, of course, he did, as Nicklaus felt himself smile. It was really odd. "~ And I will sing a lullaby ~"

"~ Golden slumbers fill your eyes ~" Nicklaus looked at the piano, the biggest piano he'd ever seen, black and expertly polished. The sound this thing could make, as it vibrated the soul. "~ Smiles await you, when you rise ~"

He looked up and turned. There were people sitting at fine tables, silently watching him, but none of them had faces. "~ Sleep pretty darling do not cry ~" He felt afraid, so afraid, but why was he, as people didn't scare him…but then again, it wasn't that type of fear. "~And I will sing a…"

There! Nicklaus' heart stopped and fluttered all at once. He became breathless. "~ Lullaby ~" The word barely came out, almost becoming lost in the wonder of her.

She stood taller than any woman Nicklaus had ever met, the only one in the room who had a face. She wasn't wearing glasses, which for some reason, Nicklaus didn't know, but that surprised him so much. Her soft brown eyes lingered with his from the back of the room. He knew her; she was scared, afraid like him… Could no one else see her, this woman, so valiant, and so very, very beautiful?

Her simple ivory dress embraced her perfect ebony skin, like Nicklaus would very much love to do, as it rest millimetres only from floor. She glided, as she walked closer towards him. Then he saw it, in the low of the dress' V, resting just above her breast; a single white pearl, held in the wings of a silver eagle, illuminating her with all the beauty of a goddess.

Nicklaus was so enthralled by her that he forgot he was supposed to be singing. His fingers played on, on for her…this song was for her. _Who is she?_ _Why can't I remember?_

"Sing…" he mouthed his words to her. She stopped, her eyes wide, as her hands began to tremble. Nicklaus looked passed her eyes, and whispered. "Sing with me, Emily."

_Emily. _A feeling of shame and regret filled him. _Emily. How could I ever forget…?_

"~ Once there was a way ~" She began to sing, the apprehension easily apparent in her earthly tone. There was just enough in the accent of her voice to say that she wasn't native Britain. American maybe? "~ To get back homeward. ~" She'd never sung in public before, but this was their song. Why couldn't Nicklaus just remember? Every memory seemed to stand at the brink of his mind, taunting him.

"~ Once there was a way to get back home ~" her voice quietened at the end, as she looked nervously around. Nicklaus pushed down slightly harder on the keys, pulling Emily's attention back to him. She jumped a little, looked to Nicklaus, and he smiled. Then, slowly, so did she. More confident than before, she sang " ~ Sleep, pretty darling, don't you cry. I'll sing a lullaby ~"

Nicklaus' smile grew and grew, as Emily glided ever so slightly near to him. Someone sat next to him, and took his place at the piano, never missing a beat, as Nicklaus stood up to meet her. Emily reached out to him, and he took her hands in his. They danced briefly, a little bit awkwardly, as she towered over him by almost a foot.

Emily looked down, smiled self-consciously, and then chuckled. Nicklaus looked down to see what she giggling at. The cufflinks had caught some light from the overhead stage lights, coursing the lions to shine. Emily let go of Nicklaus' right hand and stroked her necklace, the eagle was equally as bright. He looked up into her eyes and nodded ever so slightly, as if to say 'I know'.

"~ And in the end ~" They started together, and almost burst into laughter, as neither had meant to start the duet. "~ The love you take ~"

"~ Is equal to the love ~" their eyes never left the others, and little by little they leaned closer together. "~ You make ~" Nicklaus pushed himself onto the very tips of his toes and kissed her, which she accepted, making Nicklaus' heart and mind explode all at once. The room exploded with applause. The band beside them carried on without them, two back up singers jumping into the big finish.

"~ Golden slumbers fill your eyes

Smiles await you when you rise

Sleep, pretty darling, do not cry

I will sing a lullaby ~"

Then, in a whisper, in the back of Nicklaus' head, he heard Emily's voice. "_Oh_, _Nicklaus…_"

Nicklaus eyes shot open!

8

The second that Nicklaus opened his eyes, then so did Dudley's. Unfortunately, at that time he was floating over a cot, and someone had placed a stuffed Troll head on the table he was facing.

He threw himself backwards, throwing himself away from the bed, the movement also stopping what was keeping him air-born. He landed on the cold stone floor of the hospital wing with a thud, a numb pain jolting through his body.

"Oh, sweet Merlin!" Madam Pomfrey appeared out of nowhere, as she immediately swung into action, doing whatever checks she needed to do so that she would know that Dudley was safe to move. As she levitated Dudley back into the cot, she smiled at him, the first time Dudley had ever seen her truly smile. "Awake at last!"

Dudley sheepishly began to smile, but then he remembered. _Emily_. His heart lurched in his chest.

"Mr Evans, are you feeling okay? You've gone very pale." Madam Pomfrey leaned over him and put her hand on his forehead.

Dudley stared at her. "Mr Evans? What?" He shook his head. "Why?"

"Oh there, there, dear-" Madam Pomfrey levitated a tissue, which dabbed Dudley's eyes. He was crying. _Why was he crying, and why did it hurt so badly?_ "-It's all over now." _And what the hell was Pomfrey on about?_

Dudley put his hand over his chest; it felt like a part of him had been torn-out. _Emily. _His heart lurched again, which he knew was stupid because all the emotions were coming from his brain. Surely, if anything, his brain should be the organ in pain.

He found the more he let his mind wander, the lesser the pain became, until he was able to put it in a proverbial box. _Another matter to investigate later,_ he thought with sorrow and grief. He would not be ruled by emotions held by some unknown woman who he remembered but didn't know. _But I do know her…_

Dudley coughed loudly, doing his best to distract himself, and grabbed the tissue touching his face and wiped his tears away. "Right!...right…" where should he start? Oh, at least that was simple. "How long have I been asleep?"

"About a month now, dear."

"What?...a month." Dudley shivered, a whole month of his life gone. "Why _am _I in the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey?"

She gawped at him. "Oh dear," she whispered, mostly for her own benefit Dudley guessed. "How- how much do you remember? Or rather, what is the last thing you remember, Mr Evans?"

"Err…the last thing I remember was being called Mr '…'" Dudley tried to say his surname, but no sound came out of his mouth, as if the word had been sucked away. "What was that? '…'! '…'! '…'!"

"Oh, I'm afraid your family name has been put under a suparinjunctjinx."

Dudley turned his head to the new voice.

"-Which means no one is physically able to say it."

The curtains around Dudley's bed, which he hadn't realised until then were closed, parted to reveal Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Cornelius Fudge and-

"Mr Crow, what are you doing here?"

Mr Crow turned his head to the Minister, so Dudley copied. It was the first-time he had seen Fudge in the flesh. He'd seen the Ministers' photo loads of times, and the pinstriped suit was hard to forget, as was the punch-able face, something that that all politicians seemed to have. But if he was here-

"Oh Merlin, what's happened now?" Dudley's eyes widened. He hadn't meant to say _that _out loud. He saw Professor Dumbledore smile from the corner of his eye, so Dudley turned his Occumency up to full.

8

"So, you don't remember anything more?" this was the fifth time the Minister had asked this question.

Dudley groaned. "Yes, Minister."

There was a pause. "So you do?"

"No! Yes, 'I don't remember anything more'. The last thing that I remember, which we've already gone over, is getting chased by the Troll in the dungeon-" _And being thrown into a wall of ice,_ Dudley thought to himself, as he closed his eyes, trying to remember what happened next. "-Then it's all just waving colours and hushed sounds, a couple of out of focused images. Running to the Hall, and then…nothing."

It was the truth. Well, just about, as Dudley remembered hitting the wall of ice, somehow seeing, no not 'seeing' but 'knowing' was a more appropriate word, Pettigrew talking with Quirrel and plotting with Voldemort. Then he remembered being taken control of by-by...

Dudley started shaking, so he grabbed another tissue and held it to his nose. Sure enough, there was blood.

"Minister, perhaps that's enough probing for today, as Mr Evans still needs his rest." Professor Dumbledore smiled kindly at Fudge, and the Minister slowly nodded. "Minerva will escort you to my office. You may wait there for me if you wish. If not, I'm sure if you ask very nicely, Minerva can take you to the nearest fireplace."

"Yes, yes," Fudge took Dudley's hand and shook it firmly, although the Ministers hand was anything but strong, as it felt a bit weak. Dudley was afraid that if he squeezed it, it would slide through his fingers like jelly.

"I'm sure we'll meet again, Mr Evans." He let go and turned to Mr Crow, who had been silent the whole time, no doubt mentally examining Dudley with his eyes. "Come, Crow, we must be going."

Mr Crow slowly turned away from Dudley, and, just so Dudley could see, stowed a piece of paper in the gap between some of the large boxes that (apparently a lot of) well-wishers had sent him.

Fudge and Mr Crow then left with Professor McGonagall, leaving Dudley alone with Dumbledore whom sat silently on the edge of Dudley's bed, with a warm and unreadable smile on his face. He then reached into a pocket, hidden on the inside of his robe, and handed Dudley a few crumbled up newspapers. Dudley, wasting no time, unrolled the top one, which happened to be The Daily Prophet, and began to read it.

The first thing to catch Dudley's eye was the large picture caption of him bursting through the doors of the Great Hall, electric arches sparkling all around his body, and then throwing the Troll head at Quirrel, as he ran between the tables. Beneath that picture was another one of him bursting lightning out of his hands, and a black smoky figure flowing out of Quirrel.

Under each capitation read, _'Shocking pictures photographed by eye-witness Cormac McLaggen, at Hogwarts school'._ Above the picture read the headline: -

_DUDLEY EVANS, THE WIZARDING WORLDS' THUNDER-THROWING-SAVIOUR. _

_Defeats he-who-must-not-be-named before he can rise again! Pages 1-10. _

Dudley stared at the article, his eyes studying the pictures. As he turned the page, there were more pictures, sections of words trying to form some sort of bibliography of his life. In one of the other papers, it showed a picture of Dudley and Harry at the train-station, getting on the Hogwarts Express. Dudley didn't know the press had been there! Underneath, the article hinted at a conspiracy theory, saying that Dudley was actually the '_real _Harry Potter' and that this 'other boy' (Harry), was just a set-up to deceive the public for Dudley's safety.

"Why call me Dudley 'Evans'?"

"Protection," Dumbledore said simply. "Your parents are still Muggles, Dudley, and you've attracted a lot of attention. Protection, as much for them, as for you and Harry."

"Hmm…" Dudley rubbed his forehead. "So I'm Evans now? I would have thought they'd try and give me a 'pureblood' name?"

Dumbledore pulled out a paper from the pile resting on Dudley's knees, and tapped at a Column. It read: -

_The Boy-Who-Lived and The Thunder-Thrower are both known to be related to the Evans', supposedly a Muggle family. Rita Skeeter investigates. _

Dudley stopped, closing his eyes and rubbing them with his fists, as he leaned his head back. "Please don't tell me people are referring to me as '_The Thunder-Thrower'_?" Dumbledore chuckled, but said nothing. Dudley sighed and kept reading.

_However, how could a family of supposed Muggles produce two of the most powerful wizards of this generation? _

Dudley didn't have to read more, but he read the whole thing anyway, and, as suspected, the article was suggesting that the Evans were somehow secret Purebloods. How ridiculous! He made a grunting noise, as dropped the paper on the floor.

"You don't agree, I take it," Dumbledore said, smiling.

"No. Why write things if they aren't true?" Dudley rolled his eyes, and pushed the rest of the newspapers into a pile and set them on the floor by his bed.

"I find it very useful if one doesn't read too deeply into these things." Dumbledore tilted his head slightly towards the pile of papers.

"On that, I would agree." Dudley turned back to the old wizard, reading for whatever the man was about to ask him. "So…?"

"So." Dumbledore shrugged. There was a very long and tense pause, mostly because it seemed like Dumbledore was waiting for a question from Dudley, but Dudley already had all the answers he needed, and any he didn't he wanted to figure out himself.

"You said you saw Seamus?" Dumbledore said at last.

"Yes, but it wasn't Seamus, it was-" Dudley paused. He very much wanted to say Peter Pettigrew, but how would he be able to explain how he knew it was he? "-Someone else. They were using polyjuice potion, I think."

"Someone other than Voldemort and Professor Quirrel?"

Dudley nodded.

"Is there any particular reason why they would pursue you?"

"I-err." Dudley suddenly noticed a beetle on the curtain behind the Professor. If he hadn't just read one of her articles, he might not have made the connection. _Rita Skeeter!_

"I've had my suspicions for a long time," Dudley started slowly, avoiding looking at the curtain. "Ever since I first saw him at The Leaky Cauldron; he looked like he was up to something, and then with what happened at Gringotts… And, just before Halloween, I saw him disappearing into the Forbidden Forest. I confronted him the next day, and he threatened to hurt Harry, and said he was going to bring back Voldemort and overthrow the Ministry. I guess he thought I wasn't much of a threat. He was wrong. No one threatens my family and the people I love, and I told him I was going to tell you, Professor, during the feast. He then got one of his lackeys, Lucius _Malfoy I think he said his name was, to take a Polyjuice potion, and another person to also take a potion to look like him so that he would have an alibi.__" _

Dudley took a breath. What was he doing, just making things up as he went along? Dumbledore was staring at him strangely, obviously not believing a word_. But to be fair, this story isn't for him,_ Dudley thought. "Then he, Lucius _Malfoy I guess, tried to attack me with a dark magical device. Oh, and he said he had loads of dark magical items hidden in his house, in a secret place under the drawing room. When he couldn't get to me with it, he made a wall of ice and ran. And, well, then the Troll happened, and I guess you know the rest."_

"I…see, but how did you manage to defeat the Tro-" Dumbledore raised his eyebrow and looked hard at Dudley, who was staring at him, trying with all his might to tell the Professor it wasn't safe to talk, and to go along with it. After a moment, he seemed to understand. "-Well, I will…get on with sorting these matters out straight away. Goodnight, Mr Evans."

Dumbledore got up and swiftly left, and unsurprisingly the beetle followed after him. Dudley fell back on the bed with a thump, sweating. That was stressful! He gently closed his eyes, and pulled the covers over his shoulders, a tiny smile appearing on his lips.

"The Thunder-Thrower." _Wait until Emily hears about…_ Dudley let out a small whimper. Who was she? _No, think about something else!_ Dudley turned to his side and curled into a ball under the covers.

8

The next three days Dudley stayed in the hospital wing, and asked for no visitors, as he tried to wrap his mind around recent or not so recent events, seeing as how he'd been catatonic for a month.

No one bothered to explain why this might have occurred, of course, but Dudley had begun to expect that from wizards, and society in general. However, apparently he was floating and sparking the whole time he was asleep, and for some reason this disabled the ability to move him safety to St Mungos.

Mr Crow believed that the floating and sparking was Dudley's way of releasing the excess magic left over by whatever possessed him during the Halloween feast. That was all Dudley had managed to coax out of Madam Pomfrey. The most interesting part of Mr Crow's hypothesis to Dudley, however, was that Mr Crow believed that he had been possessed.

The other reason was so that he could straighten out his mind about Emily. He didn't dare write anything down, so instead he had resolved to make a mental list of what he could pull together. The problem in this was that he seemed to know a lot more than he should. For example; he knew he fancied her for five years, yet that was impossible because he didn't know her for five years. He knew they had their first date, but that wasn't a date as they were just friends going to a concert that turned into a date, three years after he fancied her.

The only conclusion Dudley could come up with was; he was probably older than what he thought he was when he awoke in Harry's universe. This thought both terrified and tormented him, because what else could he be forgetting? Could he and this Emily be married? Did they have kids? And if they did had kids, how old were they? Each scenario ate at Dudley's thoughts, and made him face things he really didn't want to, like; What if he had kids and, when he'd suddenly disappeared when he came here, would they think he abandoned them, like his mother and father had done to him? It was maddening!

After the third day, Pomfrey forced Dudley to see his visitors. Surprisingly, only Hermione, Ron, Seamus and the twins came, but no Harry. The twins tried to cheer him up, to no avail. Hermione handed him a copy of the day's Prophet, where on the front cover there was a big picture of Lucius _Malfoy being dragged into what looked like a birdcage, while men in red cloaks put some of the dark magical items into sacks_.

"Malfoy's been a complete recluse since they took his dad in for questioning. They found a whole bunch of dark magical artefacts in a secret-room in his house. They say he'll go to prison."

"Azkaban." Dudley corrected Hermione, although she may very well have said it because she didn't know whether Dudley knew about the prison. He turned to the twins, Seamus and Ron, who were eating his chocolate frogs. "Do you think he will?"

The twins looked at each other. "Maybe. It's pretty hard to deny when there's evidence. We thought you'd be more interested in-"

"Oh shit!" Dudley suddenly exclaimed, his eyes wide with horror, shocking everybody. "The diary!"

In the picture of Lucius _Malfoy, a very tatted journal was being shoved into a sack marked 'dangerous items Type 12'. _ _What have I done? _He put his head in his hands. Dudley felt some rustling by his feet. He opened one eye, and saw that Ron had brought Scabbers who was now eating some of Dudley's chocolate.

In a low pained voice, Dudley looked to the twins and said, "Fetch Dumbledore. I've just remembered something."


	14. Betrayal!

**Big thanks to Beta Storyseeker for re-revising all previous chapters :)**

**Betrayal! **

"Go, find Dumbledore. Now!" Dudley insisted, looking up at the twins. Fred and George looked at each other, and then ran out the Hospital Wing. Curiously, Dudley noticed that George was limping.

"Oh, and get me something to eat! I'm starving!" he yelled after them. Hunger was apparently a side effect from the muscle growth potion that he'd been given, while floating in the antigravity magic bubble, which had caused Dudley's muscles to weaken. On the upside, he had lost two and a half stone, which meant he'd have to shrink all his clothes, but he could live with that.

Hermione, Ron and Seamus were just about to follow the twins out the door, but he stopped them. Partly because he needed Ron to stay so that Scabbers would stay, and partly because there was a question he needed the answer to.

"Where's Harry? Why's he not here?"

Hermione shared a look with Ron over Dudley's head, while Seamus turned back to Dudley's chocolates, uninvolving himself from the conversation.

"Well…you see," Ron started. Dudley turned to him, and Ron stepped backwards, just out of immediate hitting distance. It also had the effect of silencing him, so Hermione instead tried to explain.

"Harry's very…conflicted about…"she trailed off. "He stayed with you for weeks after what happened, but…"

"But? 'Conflicted' about what, Hermione?" He rubbed his eyes with frustration. No one said anything, all of them avoiding making eye contact. Seamus turned around altogether.

Hermione slowly pulled out some torn-up bits of paper from her robe, and dumped them on the side of his bed. "We found it…in your bed."

"You went searching through my things?" he said in a low and emotionless voice, as he picked up each piece of paper, and turned them over. From what he pieced together, the scrapes of paper were all that were left of the Gringotts contacts. _Damn_. "Why would you search through my things, Hermione?"

"Please d-don't get mad, Dudley. We were all worried about you, after wha-what happened. We-we thought that you might have written something down so-so…" Hermione explained, looking away from him, her voice quivering.

"So you decided go through my things?" He looked at her and Ron with suspicion. "I don't suppose you know what these are?" He mentioned with a wave of his hand at the torn papers.

"It's a trade contract," Hermione answered, much like she did when she was answering a question from a teacher. "They allow wizards to take control of another wizards…"

"Money," Ron interrupted, accusingly. "You were trying to steal Harry's money!"

"You didn't think of it first, Ron?" Ron looked as if he'd been struck, and Dudley smirked for a second, but it was short-lived.

"Anyway, you're wrong. The contracts specifically, ah here…" He picked out the piece of paper he'd been looking for and handed it to Hermione. "…They specify that all properties of Harry Potter, and the Potter assets, are made safe from any transition of power."

Hermione looked dumbstruck. "Oh, I…" She then began to look very guilty. _Why would she feel guilty, unless…_

He sat back and stared at her. "It was you. You told Harry I was trying to steal from him?"

"Hey, Dudley, it was a mistake. Calm down." Dudley turned to Ron, who walked around the bed and stood beside Hermione.

"Oh, I am calm. Because you know what's going to happen now? Is that you two are going to explain to Harry that you were wrong."

Hermione scrunched up her face in concentration. "But if you weren't going to steal from Harry…?"

"Leave it, Hermione." Ron whispered under his breath.

"Why would you…?"

Ron gave her a stern look. "Hermione, _leave it_."

"If you must know, there was a third party involved. _Sirius Black_." Dudley said in his creepiest voice. He smiled, as Ron gasped, as did Seamus who turned around.

"_The Death Eater?"_ Seamus said as he leant in, as did Ron.

_Oh_ _Great, another one._ Dudley rolled his eyes. "No, The Fairy. Of course The Death Eater!"

Hermione crossed her arms. "But it said nothing about anyone called Black, and I read it twice."

"Yet you missed the part about Harry's money being safe?" Seamus snorted, surprisingly. "You're slipping, Hermione," he said in a singsong voice.

"What are you even doing here, Seamus?" Hermione snapped back. _Whoa, _Dudley thought. The way Hermione and Seamus were eyeing each other, it looked as if this wasn't their first confrontation. _What have I missed?_ He wondered.

"I'm here to see Dudley." Seamus crossed his arms under his arms. "Obviously!"

Ron sniggered at that, but hurriedly hid it when Hermione looked his way. "What are you…?"

"Where's the second contact?" Dudley asked quickly, trying to defuse the mounting aggression in the room. "There should be two. One's missing."

"Oh, err…" Hermione looked down at her feet. "That one might have been misplaced."

"Yeah, in fire," Seamus interrupted, moving to sit on the other side of Dudley's bed. "Harry was _pretty_ pissed. Went absolutely mental during Quidditch practise as well, got himself kicked off for…"

"Seamus!" Hermione hissed.

"Harry…got kicked off?" he whispered to himself slowly. "_What?"_

Before he could dwell on it or get any answers, Fred ran into the Hospital Wing, with Dumbledore swiftly following him, and George limping in behind them, panting.

"Emergency, Mr Evans?" Dumbledore put his hand on his hips. It was funny the twins were more out of breath than the old Headmaster.

"Err…" Dudley looked to Fred and George, who looked at each other, breathing heavily, and then back at Dudley, before they shrugged innocently.

Dudley took a sweeping look at all the people around the wing, before looking down at Scabbers. All Dudley could think about at that moment was Harry, as he frowned deeply. Temptation to out the rat had drained him completely. What was wrong with Harry?

Dumbledore stepped beside Dudley, and turned towards everyone else. Dumbledore smiled and gently his put his hand on his shoulder. "Perhaps it would be better if Dudley and I could have some privacy."

Heads swivelled around to look at each other, before Ron, Hermione, Seamus and Fred hastily disappeared out of the Hospital Wing, George limping behind them, leaving Dudley and Dumbledore alone.

After a brief pause, the old Headmaster spoke. "I take it that the twins were exaggerating?"

"I guess that rather depends on your view on what constitutes an emergency." Dudley picked up the copy of the Daily Prophet and handed it to him.

"I've seen it." Dumbledore held the newspaper by his side. "Are you ready to tell me what really happened now, Dudley?"

He looked at Dumbledore, and then closed his eyes. There really was nowhere to go, nothing that he could come up with that would explain why he knew the things he knew, but he had to tell Dumbledore about Tom Riddle's Dairy. _If only for Dobby, _Dudley thought, gripping his bed linen.

"If it helps," Dumbledore offered lightly. "Harry has ready informed me of your…_abilities_."

Dudley's eyes shot open. "He did, did he? And what 'abilities' would they be?"

"Harry believes," Dumbledore sat on the edge of his bed and placed the newspaper on his lap, "that you can see the future, my boy. I must say I did have my reservations, at first." Dumbledore's blue eyes sparkled knowingly over his half-moon spectacles. "But you've certainly proven yourself of being very well…informed."

"I can't see the future," Dudley snorted, looking away. _Why would Harry think I could see the…Oh, wait._ Dudley remembered the Seer lie.

It was like a light-bulb had just been switched on. He could have burst into laughter, as Harry had unknowingly given him the perfect excuse, or recycled it.

_Except,_ in the pit of Dudley's gut something stirred, a mixture of disjointed betrayal, anger and…hurt, cradled his mind._ I lied about being a Seer to Harry. Harry believed me, and promised never to tell anyone._ _Yet he told Dumbledore?_

Dudley swallowed. "He shouldn't have told anyone." _Even if it was a lie, Harry shouldn't have told anyone, most certainly not you!_

Dudley's brow deepened further. There was something oddly wrong about being hurt over a lie, some-sort of frustrating hypocritical-paradox. Was that the reason why Harry wasn't there? Because he had told Dumbledore something that_ '_technically' betrayed Dudley's trust? Alongside thinking that Dudley had been planning to steal from him…

Dumbledore gave Dudley a sympathetic smile, as if reading his mind. "Harry was very distraught; you mustn't blame him for wanting to help you." He placed his hand on Dudley's shoulder. "Harry didn't leave your side for weeks. He wanted to do all he could to help you."

As Dudley turned and stared at Dumbledore, something in his mind seemed to click into place. "And you just _happened_ to be there to comfort him?"

The expression on the headmaster's face changed; and slowly Dumbledore retracted his hand from his shoulder. It was as if all of a sudden a vast desert of ice had formed between them.

"And now here you are, trying to _'bond'_ with me as well?" Dudley said the word with disgust. "Well, what a coincidence."

Dumbledore stood to his full height. "Mr Evans, I can see that you are upset, but if you have something important to tell me, you…"

"I'm not upset," he interrupted. There was a pause where Dudley held Dumbledore's gaze. "Don't think my parents not being here hasn't escaped my notice."

"Do you want to see them?"

"No. The only person I want to see is Harry." _And Emily._ "Seamus told me he's been kicked off the Gryffindor team, and I want to know why?"

The Headmaster paused. "If you have nothing of importance to tell me, Mr Evans, then I will go."

With that, Dumbledore turned away and began to leave. Dudley could have jumped out of his bed and beaten the old man, but instead he grabbed his wand, which had been placed in the Troll's mouth by Fred, and grabbed the copy of the Daily Prophet and the torn up contract, and threw them into the air.

"Incinerat!"

The papers floated in the air in a large bubble, exploded into flames, and then vanished. He threw himself back on the bed. He could just see the darkening sky from his window.

_It'll be Christmas soon_, he thought. Trying to avoid the thought that at some point he was going to have to talk to Dumbledore about the Diary; and probably the Horcruxes; and the giant snake under the school that kills people with a look; and deal with Harry; and figure out who this Emily is/was to him, because she definitely meant something.

Dudley groaned and then mentally sighed. _At least I don't have to worry about Quirrel_. And… _It'll be Christmas soon, _he thought again.

8

Dudley didn't have anyone visit the next day on account of Quidditch match, which had been pushed back to December, mostly as a political fall-out from what happened during Halloween.

A Quidditch match would have given 'some' journalists a _loosely_ valid reason to be allowed into Hogwarts, and perhaps sneak a shot of the 'Thunder-Thrower' in the Hospital Wing, or at least a half-baked eyewitness account. Not that it stopped them from buzzing around the school, as Rita Skeeter was evidence of that.

Dudley was just intensely annoyed that he couldn't go. He should have been allowed out, since nothing was actually physically wrong with him. Well, he had to take some potions to put back on some of the muscles he'd lost from floating in his magic bubble thing. But Madam Pomfrey still made Dudley stay inside the Hospital Wing anyway. Literally, she put a barricade charms on all the exits, locking him inside while she supervised the match.

So, instead, he presided to read a set of three books on _Runnel Tattoos, And Other Bodily Adjustment _that a witch from Newcastle sent him, none of which looked particularly appealing.

He also wrote the Dursleys a Merry Christmas card, and a 'Sorry That You Couldn't See Me Because The Man In Charge Is A Prick' letter. Then around mid-day, George limped in to see him, which Dudley would later find out was because he was banned from the match. However, this meant that George was also now stuck behind the barricade.

Dudley and George tried killing time with exploding snap, decorating the Troll head with ribbons and bows from Dudley's gifts, so that it looked Christmassy. Dudley taught him how to make a ball of light, and George taught Dudley how to make a deflector charm.

Then they both had the idea of forming a magic version of tennis. However, after four broken windows and three curtains set alight, they decided that it was probably a game to be played outside. So now they were playing chess.

"Have you seen Harry today?" Dudley causally asked, as he took George's knight.

"Yeah," he replied, studying the chessboard, as it was two-three to Dudley.

"How was he?" Dudley moved his blonde hair away from his eyes.

"Don't know. No one's really talked to him." George made his move, but luckily it was the one Dudley had expected him to make.

"Why?"

George looked up at him. "Has no one told you yet?"

He shook his head. _Told him what?_

"Harry went proper mental during training. He hit Wood with the end of his broomstick. I mean, Wood deserved it, but still...it should have just been left at that. But when Wood hit him back and…"

"Oliver hit Harry!" Dudley subconsciously squared his shoulders.

"Whoa, Dud, calm down. I sorted him out, don't you worry. You never hit a first year, so it was well out of order." George pretended to crack his knuckles. "That's why I've been kicked off, too, and how I did my leg in." He smiled cockily and winked. "Thanks for asking by the way."

"Sorry." Dudley smiled and shrugged, before turning serious. "I still can't believe Wood hit Harry. Surely Professor McGonagall…"

"Are you serious?" George crossed his arms. "The whole school's gone absolutely barmy. I mean, sure he still got detention and points taken off, but still everyone's terrified that You-Know-Who's hiding around the corner." He shook his head. "You'd think there were Dementors roaming the halls or something. Me and Fred have barely sold a dancing toothpick."

"You got them to work then?" Dudley raised an eyebrow, as he made his move on the chessboard.

"Oh yeah, ages ago." George scratched his chin. "You were right. It was the type of wood. What was I saying? Oh right, half the school's not even sure they're coming back after Christmas break cos their parents wanna pull them out. Even mum and dad called off their trip so we'd all be home."

George smiled. "Check…"

Dudley airily moved a pawn that was hidden behind one of his knights, to the end of the chessboard and traded it for his queen that he'd scarified earlier. "Checkmate!"

"What? How'd you do that? Aww, no way. That's cheating."

"That's not cheating, it's a well-placed trap." Dudley smiled, as he held out his hands. "Why is it every time I win, you think I've cheated?"

"Cos you do cheat!" George looked over the board again, and then made a face as the chess pieces started calling him a sore-loser. "Whatever. Three all. Let's play again. I'll be white."

"Only cos you're ginger and pale." Dudley sniggered. The chess pieces reassembled themselves and got into position.

"Oi! Watch it, little man." George pointed at Dudley, and then laughed. He told one of his pawns to go forward.

"Wood deserved it?" Dudley asked, as he moved his pawn.

"What?"

"You said 'Wood deserved it'. Why?"

"Don't know." George shrugged, and Dudley looked at him.

George sighed. "He was just being a right prick about things. You know, saying things like how Harry should forget about you, cos it was getting in the way of his concentration, and…stuff. I don't even think Harry meant to hit him though. I did. If Fred was there, oh-boy."

George sniggered and rubbed his hands together, and then moved his bishop out into play.

Suddenly, Fred Weasley crashed through the Hospital Wing doors, completely drenched. He had a long gash down his cheek and the beginnings of a black eye. He threw, what looked like, his beaters-bat on the floor with such force that it bounced off the stone floor through a burnt hole in one of the curtains, and just managed to graze Dudley before clouting the Troll head, knocking off a blue and yellow bow.

"Impressive." Dudley joked.

Fred, however, was not in the mood it seemed. Behind him, several other Gryffindor players hobbled in, some having to be floated in by teachers. Pleasingly, one was Oliver Wood.

Fred looked at George and Dudley darkly, and all he said was; "Slytherin won."

"Oh," Dudley looked down, and then at Fred. "Got anything to eat? I'm Starving."

8

"Freeeeeedoooom!" Dudley yelled victoriously, as he exited the Hospital Wing, and headed for the Room of Requirement.

Madam Pomfrey had just discharged him; he would miss her five o'clock company. She was the only other person in the castle that awoke as early as Dudley did.

"Mr Evans, come back here!"

"Nooooooooo!" Dudley said, turning around dramatically.

Madam Pomfrey tried not to smile. She was holding out a piece of paper and a vial. Dudley quickly ran back down the corridor, grabbed them both and shoved the note into his pocket and downed the vial.

"Thank you!" Dudley yelled behind him, as he ran down the corridor and around the corner as fast as he could. Madam Pomfrey released the smile, shook her head and turned back into the Hospital wing.

Dudley shot around nine corridors, two hallways, a pig scurrying into a classroom… He did slow down for that…and then Merlin only knows how many flights of moving stairs before he reached it.

The Room of Requirement door materialised in a liquidly, rippling pulse. He didn't even need to slow down, as the doorway swung open for him, and then returned to stone behind him. With a great big smile on his face, Dudley cupped his hands around his mouth.

"Honey, I'm hooommmme!"

Books in bookcases exploded into existence all around him. He laughed hysterically, the first good laugh he'd had in ages. "Oooh," he said, looking around, taking hold of the closest pillar, and hugged it as tightly as he could. "…Oh, oh, how I've missed you."

"Come on, little-one." He tapped the column softly, as a proud father would his daughter. He stood back up straight, and wiped a tear from his eye. "It's time to get back to work."

Even as Dudley spoke, the room had begun to change into his 'lab', as he walked between the tables and rested his back against the fireplace that the metal bric-a-brac had now turned into. Books on spiritual and spectral magic's, and memory spells appeared. It was a place to start at least. And on the other tables, Dudley' journals, and Snape's, also appeared, along with scrolls of offence and defences charms, curses and jinks ranging from all calibres' of morality, which piled high on each table. Except one;

It was the table at the far side, with the bronze telescope, pretending to be a microscope. It was also where Dudley heard… He gasped in revelation. "Emily."

Dudley ran over to the telescope and looked down it without a second's thought, but nothing happened however. Other than Dudley's stomach letting out a large rumble, but that didn't count. There was nothing for it, as he'd have to go to the Great Hall to eat. It was a real let down, as he wanted to get started on unrolling the mounting mysteries stacking up in his head.

A door appeared on the right wall, which led to a passage that opened out to a hallway a little ways away that hardly anyone used (useless if it was a Wednesday, as it always seemed to be packed on a Wednesday) from the main corridors, leading to the Great Hall. Luckily for Dudley, it was Monday, but even so he summoned the Marauders map to make sure the coast was clear.

It was weird to think that a month had passed, and that it would soon be the Christmas holidays, but the little decorations made it apparent that they were drawing ever nearer. It was as if everything had literary passed in a flash. It wouldn't be long until both Dudley and Harry had to go back to the Dursleys. _And that's going to be a ball_. Dudley sighed.

Without realising it, he was standing in front of the doors to the Great Hall. He sighed again, and pushed through. The second he opened the door, it was as if he had been hit by a wave of melancholy and misery.

Everyone, save the Slytherins who were boasting loudly about their Quidditch victory from the day before, looked as if someone had told them their favourite pet had died, or something.

_Awww, now I miss my old dog,_ Dudley thought, as he walked through the doors. _Wait? _He paused._ Did I even have a dog? Yeah. No. _He shook his head. _Okay, I need to sort this memory thing out pronto. Pronto! That was his name. No, I'm thinking of Pluto. That dog's not even real… Why am I even thinking about…why has it gone quiet?_

Dudley looked up only to see the whole school staring back at him, silently. On the very far side of the hall, a Hufflepuff boy from the second years stood up and screamed, "THUNDER THROWER!"

A definite feeling of _'oh no'_ washed over him, as the whole hall suddenly went mad with applause. People were howling and chanting. The Weasley twins wasted no time on being the first students to stand on the table, though George needed help getting up.

Much to Dudley's surprise, quite a lot of the Slytherins were also getting in on the craziness, clapping and hammering the table, and one even shook his hand as he passed. Though Dudley made sure to check it later, just to make sure it hadn't been…_tampered_ with. He supposed that it made sense, as they couldn't really be seen to not agreeing with the vanquishing of the Dark Lord from the school.

As Dudley got to where he wanted to sit, the Weasleys grabbed him as they yelled, "Speech! Speech! Speech!"

He contemplated throwing the twins off the table, but then he spotted Conner McCormack with his bloody camera. Everyone started chanting it, and even some of the Professors, including Dumbledore who was smiling and lightly clapping. Harry and Draco were the only ones who weren't doing anything at all.

He sighed, as he was sure Harry never got any attention like this! Although, thinking about it, Harry hadn't done what Dudley had done, or anything like it in front of the whole school, until his…fourth year at least?

The crowd, however, misunderstood his sigh, as they all abruptly quietened again, this time waiting for Dudley to say something. When looking at all their hopeful faces, Dudley rather missed facing the Troll.

Dudley opened his mouth. _What the hell am I gonna say?_ "Err, well, our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate." Dudley cringed all over. _Really?_ He asked himself._ I am really going to do this._

"Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us." Apparently he was_. I'm a terrible person. I am sorry, __Marianne Williamson, Nelson Mandela…and Coach Carter._

"We ask ourselves who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?" everyone laughed politely. "Actually, who are you _not_ to be?" and then it was like everyone had been switched on, and started to listen. "You are all children of Go…Merlin."

"Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to manifest the glory of –the Magic- that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone!" Someone visually shivered in front of Dudley. "And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same."

Dudley looked down the Gryffindor table, where Oliver Wood was writing furiously in on his parchment. _Why? _As Dudley looked, so were several others. Then he realised,_ Quidditch speeches._

He smiled and opened his arms. "And as we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others… Thank you."

Dudley put one arm across his belly, which had sunk quite a bit, and bowed deeply. The hall again erupted into applause, and Harry scurried out unnoticed in the crowd, as did Draco. When everyone calmed down, Dudley grabbed a turkey leg and followed.

8

Out of sight, Dudley pulled out the Marauders Map. Harry and Draco appeared to be in the same corridor, alone and it looked like they were fighting. It wasn't far, so he ran.

"I-I bet you think its funny!" Draco could be heard. "Don't you?"

"No-no I don't. Draco, put it down." Harry said.

Dudley turned the corner and silently pulled out his wand. Draco had Harry pinned up against the wall, his wand to Harry's throat.

"Don't come any closer!" Draco caught sight of Dudley. "I'll do it!"

"No." Dudley took a bite out of the turkey leg, and then dropped it. "You won't."

"I WILL!" Draco tensed, and jerked his wand against Harry's throat. "While you were having your little_ nap,_" Draco spat, "we learned how to. Put your wand down!"

Dudley stared into Draco's grey eyes. They were mad and animated.

"Dud, please do as he says."

"Yeah, yeah, do what I say!" Draco laughed bitterly. "Mr _Hero_, Mr _Savour,_ Mr Thun_…" _

Dudley took his chance. "Stupefy!"

Draco was flung forward on to Harry, and passed out instantly.

Harry pushed Draco off him, and moved away quickly. Dudley ran up and caught Draco before he hit the ground, and then laid him down gently, taking his wand away. He looked to Harry.

"I didn't have my wand," Harry said quickly, looking a little shocked.

Dudley frowned, and looked down at Draco. "You should always carry your wand. Especially now."

"You didn't have to…you could have talked him down. You didn't have to…"

"Yes, I did," Dudley interrupted, hooking his arms under Draco's arms. "It's better to neutralise the threat before something goes wrong and goes psycho. Besides, we both know I'm not good at the whole 'talking things down'. Grab his legs."

Harry stared, and then huffed, as he took hold of the small Malfoy's ankles. "This is just like being at home."

"Hardly," Dudley said in a serious voice. "This time no one got hurt."

Harry smiled at that, but quickly sucked in his lips and looked away, as if remembering he was supposed to be angry. Dudley watched him, as they carried Draco's floppy body down the corridors towards the closest supply room.

"Hermione and Ron have told you that the…"

"Yes," Harry said quickly.

"Oh, okay, then why didn't you come to see me?"

Harry dropped Draco's legs, which was why Dudley took the head side. "Because you told McGonagall to kick me off the Quidditch team!"

"From inside a coma, Harry?" Dudley raised an eyebrow.

"No!" Harry's was going red. "Before! Oliver Wood said…"

"The Oliver Wood who you hit with a broomstick?" Dudley titled his head. "George told me everything, Harry. Don't try turning me into the bad guy here."

Harry turned away. "Wood said that _you_ told McGonagall that I shouldn't be on the team, because I was too young."

"So you hit him with a broomstick? Well, I suppose that kinda proves a point." He lowered Draco to the floor with care.

"No, not just for that." Harry spun around suddenly. "So you did tell her!"

Draco groaned. "What's going…?"

Dudley whipped out his wand and pointed it at him. "Stupefy... Muffliato." Just in case Draco decided to play dead and listen in. He then turned back to Harry.

"No, I didn't. I said that it was unfair that _you_, as a _first year,_ got to join the team, when other first years don't."

"Other first years aren't as good as me." Harry pointed to his chest, and it looked like he might have hurt his finger doing it.

"You don't know that, Harry, and you know why, because other first years don't get to try out!" Dudley hopped over Draco's right arm. "I don't want superstardom going to your head."

"Going to my head, you are such a hypocrite!" Harry stomped angrily away, and pointed towards the corridor. "What was that speech all about then? There's no way you just…just came up with it."

"Your right, I didn't." Dudley took a step closer. "I borrowed it from a poem."

"Poems rhyme, Dudley!"

"Not all the time!" This was pitiful, and they both knew it.

"I hate you!" Harry stepped back in shock of his own words.

Dudley insides turned to ice; he stared at Harry for a long time, before he replied. "No, you don't."

Harry stiffened. "You…you're always telling me what to…and making decisions for me. And you're always, _always_ working, and you never say what on!"

"First of all, you never ask, and secondly I only do what is best for you."

"Best for me, _best_ for me!"

"Yes, best for you! Because when I'm not here, you hit people with broomsticks, and chase after the wrong guys. You thought it was Snape, didn't you, and all the time it was Quirrell and Wormtail. You could have been killed, like I was!"

"That's not…" Harry looked at Dudley. "Who the hell is Wormtail?"

_Shit, no wait, I can turn this around_. Dudley thought quickly. "He's the guy I came here to talk with you about…"

"Well, I don't wanna hear it!" Harry turned around and started marching away.

"Well, good! Cos I know how bad you are at keeping secrets! I know you told Dumbledore!"

Harry seemed to pause mid-march/stomp, and turned slightly. His cheek was hot and red, and he then ran away at full tilt, down the corridor and disappeared. Well, not disappeared, as there were only so many places that Harry could go, yet still he felt a million miles away.

"Why didn't you just turn around?" Dudley closed his eyes and put his head in his hands, and hit himself with them. "You stupid, stupid man. Ugh!"

Dudley turned, picked up Draco and threw him over his shoulder. "Come on, let's find you a nice warm cupboard to wake up in."

8

After putting Draco in a nice safe place, Dudley went back to the Room of Requirement and had a little read about artistic wizardry, making flowers grow and change colour, making rain float and dance and all that jazz. His mind was too frazzled to think too deeply into anything.

Over the time, he kept checking the map for Harry's name. At the moment, he was sitting in the common room with Hermione, Ron and Seamus. Dudley spied on Pettigrew who was on Ron's bed in the boys' dorm.

Seamus and Hermione were suddenly standing opposite each other. Hermione then ran into the girls' dorms, and now Ron and Seamus were opposite each other.

"Oh, they're fighting." Dudley watched for a while, until Harry got in the middle of it. After that he lethargically explored the rest of the map.

Other than some interesting combinations of couples wondering about, particularly the two boys names on top of each other in Ravenclaw house, and the girl on girl action in Hufflepuff. Which strangely, Dudley frankly thought, would have been the other way around. Nothing untoward seemed to be going on.

"I'm so bored," Dudley whined to himself, rubbing his face with his hands. He touched his hair. _I need a haircut_. "Ughh, why can't I just…" _Say sorry,_ but he couldn't bring himself to say the words out loud, because he didn't feel sorry, because he didn't feel like he had anything to say sorry for.

It was getting late, but he wasn't tired, and he didn't want to go to Gryffindor Tower because Harry was still there. So after about an hour of watching nothing happening on the map, he saw Hagrid's name wandering towards the forest.

Dudley smiled, as he hadn't seen the man in ages, or the forest, and if he was quick then he could do both. Sneaking out the castle was a doddle with the map.

It was cold in the castle, and he thought about running back to the Room of Requirement for a coat, but decided against it, as he'd never reach Hagrid in time. On his way out, Dudley saw the pig again. It trotted and snorted at him, as he ran past.

8

The second he stepped out into the blistering cold, the door of the passage he had used slammed shut behind him. Snow and ice swirled harshly all about him, burning his skin, while bitter powerful roaring winds deafened him and robbed him of his sight. A horrible feeling took hold, as he felt himself being moved by the strength of the winds. He had forgotten it was winter, and he had just walked willingly into a blizzard.

Dudley quickly tried to grab his wand, as he knew spells that could protect him, if he could just…

_WUSH! _

Dudley's wand was ripped out of his hand, as a huge wind pulled him forward. He tried to fight against it, but his feet couldn't find grip on the frozen cobbles. Another wind slammed into him, and he was suddenly lifted and thrown.

_Crack!_

Dudley hit his head against the stone cobbles. His vision blurred, while snow, ice and the wind continued to hammer down against him. He thought he could see his wand being buried in the snow beside him. He pushed his arm out to his side.

"_Nicklaus," _a woman's voice, clear as a bell, rang through his mind.

"NO!" Dudley screamed and begged. A pressure began to build up in the front of his head, as his vision blurred more deeply.

"NOT NOW! NOT NOW!" He saw a hallway and a blurry woman in a white lab coat, and the snow storming in front of him all at once. He felt numb all over.

"HARRRRY!" Dudley screamed, snow piling onto his face, and everything faded into black.

"_Nicklaus, run!"_


	15. Nicky Alone

Big Thank You to Beta Reader Storyseeker, and to reviewers who make writing for fun all the greater!

**14: Nicky Alone!**

Two men were sitting in a building, in a large office with glass walls, on the outskirts of London. The skinner, paler and younger of the two sat staring endlessly on a screen layered into the table, flicking through dense pages of the latest theories made by the office below, which were wrong as always, of course, meaning the man would have to readapt them…again.

The other man, blonde and greying, stood facing the glass walls, tapping a brown pen against his bottom teeth. The glass had long since been made opaque by the mathematical siblings that filled them and that only the man staring at them could understand.

The skinny man hunched over his desk, as a small red light blinked at the side of the screen. He rolled his eyes, stood up and headed for the wall, as two glass panels slid out and then opened. He hesitated and turned. "Donnic paged me again. You want me to grab you a coffee on my way back?"

The other man grunted, but gave no replay. The skinny man rolled his eyes. "I'll take that as a yes then."

"Nicky, I'm trying to concentrate!"

"Nicklaus! Screw you, Ian." Nicklaus turned out of the office, the automatic doors shutting behind him. "Nob-jocky," he muttered, as he headed for the lifts. He knew he couldn't blame Ian for snapping, as they were all under a lot of pressure, particularly after the last projections of the test failed to meet the minimum power requirements.

The lift opened in the centre of what could have been some sort of Zen garden. The floor was stone, and a little pathway lead up to the desk of the junior CEO who'd inherited the project as 'proving' piece for one of the seniors CEOs. However, he accidentally struck it big with the board when Nicklaus, Ian and Carl (Nicklaus' old and now long since deceased mentor), discovered a new type of subwave energy four years ago. He now thought of himself as a vital member of the company, while they, however, didn't.

"Ah, Nicky." came a voice from his side. Dominic was in his mid-twenties, not much younger than Nicklaus had been when he first started working for the company, and as about as useful as an un-evolvable Magikarp from Pokémon.

Donnic sat at his black marble desk, which was so big and heavy that a crane had been needed to get it into the building, and, as per usual, his eyes never left the screen panel at the desk's centre as he spoke.

"Nicklaus." Nicklaus corrected, again. He despised Donnic's use of nicknames. Everyone called him 'Nicky' now, and he hated it.

"Just the man I wanted to see. " Donnic added, either ignoring him, didn't hear him or didn't care. It was most likely all three.

"I know 'Sir', you paged me." He rolled his eyes. That was another thing about Donnic, as he always insisted that everyone call him 'sir', a respect Nicklaus hardly believed the man deserved. He turned towards the voice and walked the little stone pathway towards the man.

"I'd like to introduce you to our newest asset." Donnic flicked his hand towards a rather insulted looking, young black woman who was trying to balance herself on one of the four small and uncomfortable 'mushroom' shaped (£3000 each) chairs that Donnic had purchased out of the projects budget. "Nicklaus Larkin, this fine young woman is Emily Brooker, a prodigy like you were…"

"Prodigy?" Nicklaus scoffed, as he raised an eyebrow. He would never consider himself a prodigy, for the simple fact that he wasn't, as he had worked at everything he did to get where he was. Prodigy implied that he simply 'got lucky', and he hoped this new girl wasn't one, as he had had enough of them. They needed people who actually do _work_.

"Emily here is a 'specialist' in biometrics, and genetic something-or-other…" Donnic gestured to the woman, and she raised a thin and horrified eyebrow. Nicklaus smiled, as he would do the same if someone just called his work 'something-or-other.'

"…will be working with you and Ian French, our resident pharmacist." Donnic laughed at his own joke, rotten with smugness.

"Alright," Nicklaus stepped forward. "First, you mean 'local physician', and he's not. He's a physicist," he corrected. He caught the woman biting her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing. He liked her more by the second.

He smirked, and then frowned. "Secondly, if she's joining mine and Ian's team, why isn't Ian here?"

Donnic took his eyes off the screen, and locked his jaw tightly to the right, which was his 'serious angry face'. "Because _he_ has work to do."

"And I don't?"

"I don't know, Nicky, do you?"

"Yes. I do."

"Then why are you here?" Donnic flicked his hands out to the sides, and smirked that self-righteous grin.

Nicklaus leaned forward over Donnic's desk, and stared the man in the eyes. "Because you paged me." A tense silence thickened the air. The screen on Donnic's desk pinged four times. Nicklaus leaned back, and Donnic's eyes went down.

"Could you accompany Miss Brooker on a tour of the test chamber, and fill her in. Then take her to your office. Her lab will be functioning shortly. Until then, you'll have to share. A table with your things should be set-up in there tomorrow." Donnic gestured to Emily, and then flipped his hand towards the lift.

Emily continued trying to hide her smile all the way down the stone pathway. She let it free once the lift doors were closed. "That was…interesting. He always like that?"

Nicklaus looked down at to her, a little taken aback by her accent. She noticed.

"What is it?"

"You're American." Nicklaus crossed his arms. "I didn't know we were allowing foreigners onto the project."

"Oh, the times we live in." She filed her hands out flippantly, and then crossed them.

"Sorry, I just wasn't expecting..." There was a pause, and he stared straight at the mirror reflective doors of the lift. "I like your cornbraids."

"Thank you." She looked down at him oddly. "I'm guessing you don't talk to people much."

Nicklaus raised an eyebrow. "Working here, the only communication I have is when somebody wants something done… So what part of America are you from?"

She smiled. "Seattle"

He knitted his brow. "The Deep South?"

"What? No!" She laughed loudly. "It's not even clo…" She burst into laugher, laughing until she had tears in her eyes. Nicklaus watched her moodily, as he didn't like it when people laughed at him.

Emily wiped tears out her eyes. "Sorry, sorry. That was just, oh, I haven't laughed like that in ages."

"Well…" He reached out and tapped a thirteen-digit code on the number pad. "I'm glad I could accommodate."

She stood up straighter, and he noticed she was very, very tall when she did so. "I didn't mean any disrespect."

"Good. Neither did I." The lift doors pinged. "You are about to enter the testing room, Miss Brooker. I cannot stress how vitally important it is to your _health_ that this room remains top secret. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Of Course."

"Good. Don't look so worried, Emily. You've just caught me on a bad day." Nicklaus put his hands in his pockets and walked out the lift backwards. "Welcome to Project Moon, Miss Brooker."

"Project Moon? I think you've made a mistake." Emily slowly stepped out the lift. "Thought this was a…"

"It doesn't involve the moon, it's just the name." Nicklaus turned around, and stared walking down the corridor. "It's actually a pun of a quote, 'Reach for the moon, because if you don't make it then you'll land among the stars'. Mr Highmoor was very fond of it, so we decided that's what we'd call it. Well…and also because when the… Well, why don't I show you?"

Emily just stared at him, but followed him blindly. He stopped in front of a glass window, which looked to be almost a meter thick, looking into a large spherical room. In the centre of the room, between two metallic pillars, was a cage.

"Do you know the laws of physics, Emily?"

"It's not really my field…"

"Not your field? It's science, is it not? If you're working here, it is because you are at the epicentre of the narrowed bottleneck of your area of research. Mr Highmoor believed that everything narrowed until it opened up again. I'm about to open you up, Miss Brooker."

Emily looked at him, crossing her arms and raising a thin eyebrow.

He smirked and turned back to the glass, placing his hand on a panel. Something in the room switched on. "I developed this machine when I was in university. I didn't know what I was doing back then, and I just thought it was a test problem. After I handed it in, Mr Highmoor hunted me down. He sold me the idea of a machine that could tap into endless energy, and said that with this machine we would see the return of the British prominence in the international community."

Emily scoffed, quickly covering her mouth.

Nicklaus frowned. "I've devoted my life to this Project, because I know it will change the world. You may not like the idea of British rule, but it will come. Especially, when we hold all the power, and are severed from our dependency on foreign fuel."

"What makes you think I'd betray my country?" Emily looked at him, almost amused.

Nicklaus smiled. "Watch, Miss Brooker. Just…Watch."

An arm came out of a wall socket and placed a gold cage with a rat inside it, in-between the two pillars. The arm retracted back into the wall, and a white panel slid closed behind it. Slowly, the pillars began to spin.

All the light in the facility turned off, and in the test chamber the rat in the room started to glow. The pillars started to move faster and faster, the floor beneath them began to vibrate, and the sound of a deep charge began to build up all around them.

"Oh my god!" Emily gasped in amazement, and pushed herself forward against the glass.

The rat in the cage, its skin started to unravel into fraying silk strands of complex light that almost seemed to turn to dust. The rat no longer existed, only ribbons of light, plasma springing all across the room, deflected everywhere. The pillars started moving so fast that they could barely be seen, plasma forked off them, hitting the panels.

"We call this part Genesis!" Nicklaus yelled over the humming of the generator.

The fraying light started to spring back on itself, forming into a silver bright ball. The ball of light suddenly exploded, the shockwave rumbling the building as it hit the glass, and Emily collapsed to the floor. Nicklaus stood unshaken.

"That would be the Moon," he whispered, as he touched a button on the glass, making everything start to power down. The light flickered back on. "It always explodes, as its unstable. Ian and I believe the problem lays in the amount of power."

"All that?" she interrupted, breathing heavily, as she her threw off her glasses passionately, excitement clearly evident in her expression.

"Universal Sub-Continuum Wave Energy." He lifted the glasses off his face. "Or…USCWE"

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. "It came from the rat?"

"No. It came from, what we call, 'the enzyme', which we implanted into the rat. The enzyme is what you'll be working with." He smiled down at her, and held out his hand. "Have I opened you up, Miss Brooker?"

She stared at his hand, and then at him, grasping his hand firmly.

8

"_DUDLEY! I can see him! DUDLEY!" A boy's voice called out in panicked echoes. _

"_Come on, mate, please be all right!"_

"_Seamus, your nose is still bleeding!"_

_The sounds faded away. He knew that voice, who was it?_

8

Nicklaus carried two DVDs, one in each hand. It had become his and Emily's tradition over the last year to watch a film in the storeroom on the sixth floor whilst everyone left the building. This way they didn't have to talk to anyone from the other project teams, who were A; as boring as hell, and B; always wanting them to 'quickly look at something', which usually took about three hours, and turned out to be wrong anyway.

Nicklaus and Emily never really watched the films however; instead they just talked about their own work. Together with Ian, they were all just on the verge of something really big and truly very exciting; a new form of energy developed by the Universal Sub-Continuum Wave Energy or USCWE.

"So, Emily is it?" He stopped just before he turned the corner. That was Mrs Weatherspoon's voice, the old tea-lady and someone who he considered to be of very little worth.

"Yes? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Well…" He cringed, recognising the second voice as that of Mrs Luncheon. She had had it out for him ever since he started. "We just wanted to know, what's going on between you and Mr Larkin?"

"Excuse me?" Nicklaus's eye's widened in disbelief. _How preposterous! _

"Oh come off it, girl. We saw the way you two looked at each other." Even though he couldn't see her, he knew Mrs Weatherspoon would be waving her hands about as she spoke.

"Again, excuse me? What do you mean the way we look at each other? We are just work colleagues, friends at the most. Nothing is 'going on'"

_Oh,_ Nicklaus thought. Unexpectedly, a feeling that was a bit like disappointment and rejection washed over him, his forehead wrinkled. He'd never even thought of Emily Brooker _that way_ before, so why would he feel…_dejected_?

Well, so what if she didn't like him that way, he didn't need anyone…like that. He had made _that_ decision when he decided to quit university and work for the company.

"Well, you know what they say about friends, dear." Mrs Weatherspoon snapped her fingers, and Nicklaus knew it as her because it was accompanied by the cracking of her knuckles. "That's all it takes."

"Seriously, though, you shouldn't get too friendly with him." That was Mrs Luncheon again. "He has a bit of a _dark side_ to him. You know."

"No, I don't know. He's been nothing but charming to me since I arrived."

He was a little taken aback; Emily said that without a hint of sarcasm, and he smiled.

"Oh don't let him fool ya', you know how he got the job, don't ya'?" There was a pause. "Oh my dear, you don't, do ya? Well, it's all quite mysterious really, and you know me, I don't like to gossip…"

He snorted below his breath. Any and every time that Mrs Luncheon said she wasn't a gossip, then that would be exactly what she would do, as tall tales were her specialty.

"…but I've been working here on and off all my life, started when I were only a girl of fifteen I did. Getting the tea for the bigwigs upstairs, yer' know. Anyway, about three years ago, wait was it three…no, it was four years ago. Has to be, cos it were just after our Davey, me son that is, had his 'you-know-what' stuck in one of those swimming pool jet things."

Nicklaus pulled his collar into position, and straightened his tie.

"Yeah-yeah, four years ago it was, Mr Carl Highmoor was in charge then, wonderful man, and God rest his soul. He brought Mr Larkin from the university, offered him a job when he had nothing, gave him everything really. God, he was only around twenty, hardly more than a boy really, could hardly blame him for saying yes. I would'a. I may not be one of those fancy Hoity-Toity science types… Sorry, dear, don't mean you. But I know a devious man when I see one…"

_Devious man? _He smirked; his curiosity peaked, as he strained his ears.

"There was some arguments, furious ones, you could hear 'em on the floors below. Nothing us lot could understand." Mrs Weatherspoon grunted with agreement. "But it was defiantly about Mr Larkin and Mr French not getting their own ways. Of course, back then Mr Highmoor had the final say on anything and everything. Anyway, not but a month went by before the biggest cross of words between the three, and Mr Highmoor was found by his grandson dead in his own home, sitting in his reading chair…"

"And?" Emily sounded like she hadn't been taken in by Mrs Luncheon's story at all.

"And look who took his place."

"You're suggesting that Carl Highmoor, an obese and seventy year old man, was murdered by Nicklaus so that he could…"

"Get his and get his way, my dear. Get his and get his way."

There was another pause, before Emily spoke again. "And why not Ian?

"Pardon, dear?"

"You said an argument happened between the three of them. Why couldn't it have been Ian?"

"Because, because Ian French is a lovely man, and a good Christian. You're an American ain't ay, so you know how important that can be."

Mrs Weatherspoon interjected. "He'd never think to murder poor Mr Highmoor, as they were best friends before Mr Larkin came along."

There was a very long silence.

"You think that because I come from America, I'm some sort of bible thumping… I think its best you leave, Mrs Luncheon, Mrs Weatherspoon. I have a lot of work to be getting on with, as I have no doubt you do, too."

"Oh yes, oh yes, of course, dear." A second later, both of them hobbled out of Emily's office with her trolley.

"Little Negro-yank! Who does she think she is, bringing back…" Mrs Luncheon muttered something Nicklaus couldn't hear, as the two old ladies made their way down the hallway. Whatever it was, Mrs Weatherspoon grunted in agreement.

Nicklaus stared after them darkly. He'd make sure they weren't coming back tomorrow. _Murderer, as if! Racist, good for nothing, old windbags_! He turned the corner, and held the two DVDs against the glass of Emily's office.

"Quitting time in an hour, Happy Feet or Tangled?" he called through the glass. His voice, professional as always, could have just as well been asking her which parent she'd rather die first.

"Happy Feet." She looked up and smiled at him brightly, pushing up her glasses, immune as always to his groan, since they'd watched Happy Feet so many times he was surprised the disk didn't have holes in it.

"Again? Oh well." He smiled thinly, as the glass doors slid open. "Have you got the samples from C block yet? I've heard they're promising."

"Yeah, they look like more DEs, if you ask me." She pressed the touch pad on her desk.

"More dead ends. Damn." He walked into the office and put the DVD on her desk. "And New York, next week. Your birthday, too, if I remember correctly?"

"Yeah, it is." She smiled sheepishly. "So New York, you know where that is, don't you?" she giggled to herself, and closed some files on her desk monitor.

"Haw-haw," he said, rolling his eyes. She asked him that every time he mentioned anywhere outside England, as an in-joke from their first frosty encounter.

"Seriously, the meeting is with the whole board; we really need something good. So…" He smiled as sweetly as he could, which wasn't very much. "Is there anything promising we can give them?"

"Hmm, actually…" She stood up. It always caught him off guard, because she looked so much smaller sitting in her chair. She pulled a plastic vial from out of the refrigerating units behind her desk. "Follow me."

"Gladly. But can we make it quick, as group seven finish in fifteen. And they want me to review the new plasma generator, to stop all that forking during genesis." He looked at his silver watch, and Emily nodded.

They swiftly made their way to the labs. Emily did her magic with the sample from her office and set up the microscope, which took up about a quarter of the lab. She grinned and gestured him to it. "Have a look."

Nicklaus looked at her mysteriously, and then looked through the lenses. At first, he had no idea what he was seeing. Thousands of little enzyme-like things were buzzing about, when suddenly one of them divided. His eyes widened.

Emily must have seen his reaction, as she leaned right towards his ear. He suddenly felt his stomach flutter. It was weird… and irritating. "Nicklaus, you know what this means?"

"It means we're getting our funding. I thought you said you couldn't make enzymes divide?"

"I never said I couldn't, I just said it would be close to impossible. Besides, they're not perfect, they only produce a third of the power that the original samples did." He looked at her, and she turned away.

"There just isn't enough of the background Energy. Sorry, 'USCWE'…stupid acronym. Anyway, they just don't want to reproduce outside of a living host. If there was just enough to kick-start the process, I think they'll work. Obviously, output will be an issue, unless we continually farm it out of…"

"Hmm…" Nicklaus watched her back, then closed his eyes. Dates seemed to flow around his brain, pictures, equations and machines. "What if…"

Emily spun around, as she ran her hand over her braids. "God, I love it when you say that."

Nicklaus smiled, and at that moment he couldn't help but notice how graceful she was with her height, and in the way she moved. He squashed the feel immediately, as he had no time for that.

"What if we simply find a location with a greater affinity of the USCWE? If the problem is that, then…"

"We can do that?" She watched him.

"I can," Nicklaus straightened his back, "make it happen! We have more than just this facility." He paused. "You should run it by Ian though, just in case." He turned around, as he had to see group 7. "It's more his area than mine. I'm just the guy that pulls it all together and makes sure that it is actually feasible."

"Nicklaus." Emily dropped her forearm on his head, and tapped his forehead with her fingers. "You're so much more than that, and you know it. Happy Feet in forty, yeah?"

She lightly pushed him toward the door, and started humming as he walked away. She had a beautiful voice. As he left, he could hear her singing, and he stopped for a while, just to listen.

# Once there was a way to get back homeward  
Once there was a way to get back home  
Sleep pretty darling do not cry  
And I will sing a lullaby #

Nicklaus smiled to himself. She loved that blasted song. He would have to learn how to play it.

He started humming along, but then he stopped himself. Was that any way to behave? He started walking in silence down a corridor, but he could still hear Emily's voice, as everything faded to black.

8

"_Is he singing?" whose voice was that?_

"_He does it all the time when he's sleeping. Haven't you noticed?"_

"_That's him? I thought it was Neville."_

"_Hey!"_

"_Would you guys shut up and carry his bloody legs!"_

8

The glass doors slid open. As Nicklaus stepped out of his office, Emily stepped out to stand right beside him. "Nicklaus, I need to talk to you."

Then Ian stood to his left. All three stood holding large crates, full of their research, and for a second they all just…smirking. They could hear the helicopter waiting for them on the roof. Four years, and the under tower was ready.

They followed each other to the top building, and quickly strapped themselves into the helicopter. This was the start of a new era, and Nicklaus was shaking with excitement, as today he, Emily and Ian would completely move their work to the tower that he had designed, and start work on the development of a new, clean, renewable and sustainable power source.

He smiled. It was unbelievable, and all based on a single anonymous enzyme.

Donnic appeared on the roof with five other people in suits. _The investors,_ Nicklaus thought to himself. There was handshaking and name-swapping, as each suit got into the helicopter, and once everyone was strapped in, they took off.

"Why don't we start with where is it?" Donnic yelled into the microphone in his helmet. Eyes turned to Nicklaus and Ian.

"London!" Ian yelled back, his usual monotone filled with unexpected anticipation, as it was the first time Nicklaus and Emily had seen him smile in months.

"Why London?" one of the investors questioned with a strong, deep and eastern twang to his voice.

"There's a MASSIVE AMOUNT of the Universal Sub-Continuum Wave Energy, or USCWE, there! If Emily can synthesize more of the catalyst, it should be enough to kick start the process!"

"Synthesize? Cata-what?" This came from a woman with a forceful and loud southern American accent.

"Make more of the stuff that we found in the sample that converts the USCWE into something usable!" Emily shouted down the mic. Her American accent seemed to appear out of nowhere, and Nicklaus had to bite his lip so as not to laugh. She kicked him in the shin, making it look like an accident.

"Oh! Was there anywhere else the 'Undertower' could be built?" the woman shrieked down into the mic.

"No, London was the only place suitable!" Ian shouted, as he pulled out a large map of the world. It had red dots scattered over it. He gave everyone a corner. "Unless we wanted to share the research with the French, or the Russians!"

Nicklaus pointed to red dots on the map over Paris and Moscow. He already knew all the locations off by heart, as it was he who had to go all over the world to find them. Ian looked to him so he could explain.

Nicklaus started by pointing to London. "Also, there's a great deal of USCWE under London! The places where useable multitudes of the energy are found are pretty erratic! However, most of the major cities seem to have a deposit in, over or under them! For some reason, London has the greatest mass."

The rest of the ride was spent explaining plans, and giving presentations to the investors. They landed on top of Canary Wharf, and took a private lift 660ft below sea level, to the Undertower.

Everything started flicking black.

8

"_Why's he shaking?"_

"_Shut up and hold him, Neville! Dean, you hold his legs! Seamus, Ron, his arms!"_

8

After the demonstration in the Undertower, came the celebration gala party with all the investors. They had rented an amazing hall, where the rich of the rich were drinking champagne, practicality dripping in jewels. At the back of the room, Nicklaus waited for Emily and Ian.

"Nicklaus."

"Emily, there you…" He smiled and turned around to see her, and was cast down breathless. She was wearing an ivory dress, and looked simply stunning. All he could say was, "Wow."

"Err, I got you something." He quickly pulled out a little box from his suit pocket, and handed it to her.

"Oh, Nicklaus." She looked taken back, as she took the box. "You didn't have to."

He grinned. "I wanted to. Without you, we'd never have gotten here."

She smiled, as she opened it. Then stopped, staring at it for what seemed like a lifetime. "Nick…?"

A horrid feeling washed over him. She didn't like it. "The eagle," he quickly tried to explain, a hot flush in his cheeks. "…The eagle was made in America. I thought…I thought, you know, with your family being in America and all, and you're always talking about home so much that you must miss being there. So I thought that if you had this, you'd always feel closer to home. And the pearl, well, the pearl is the Moon and…"

"Nicklaus," she said, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, but she was smiling. "It's amazing."

He frowned, confused. "Then…why, Emily, are you crying?"

"Nicklaus, I'm engaged."

"Oh…" Nicklaus looked down at his cufflinks. He lifted his head, he didn't know what to say. "Well done"

"Well done?" Emily stared at him. "Well done?"

Emily lifted her dress and ran towards the balcony. He stood where he was, as he hadn't meant to upset her_. I better say sorry,_ he thought. He didn't want to lose a friend, technically his only friend, so made his way towards the balcony.

Emily was leaning over the side. She was humming Golden Slumbers to herself, trying not cry. Even distraught, she still looked…incredible.

"Emily, I want…" He stepped out onto the balcony. "…I want to say sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Sorry? You're sorry, Nicklaus!" Emily turned to him furiously. "For seven years, I've…you've…" She threw her hands to her side. She looked pained. "You know what everyone call us, don't you?"

He shook his head.

"They call us…" She reached for the necklace he bought her, a silver eagle holding a pearl between its wings. _She's wearing it,_ he thought. "Mr and Mrs Frankenstein."

"I'm sorry, Emily, I just thought you would like it. If you don't, then you don't have to wear…"

"You don't get it at all! It's perfect, Nicklaus." Emily hit her palm to her forehead in frustration. "How? How can you be so brilliant and not even…" Large tears welled up from her beautiful brown eyes. "...Notice!"

He frowned. "Emily, I don't understand."

"Oh my God, Nicklaus!" She gritted her teeth and threw her arms out. "I LOVE YOU, you brilliant little IDIOT!"

"What?" Her words seemed to echo in his head a thousand times. He stared at her in complete disbelief, totally lost. "Why?"

"How could I not? You understand me more than anyone I've ever met, you…You bring me a coffee just the way I like it every morning, you watch films that I know you hate. You stay up all night if I ask you to read my research, even when it's completely wrong. You turned the plane around so that I could see Bruno Mars for my birthday. And, for God's sake, like a million other things! You can't tell me you don't feel the same, or that you've never noticed! I've seen the way you look at me. Nicklaus! You open me up!"

He stared at her in shock. His heart was hammering so loudly that he thought it might break through his chest at any moment. "But-but…you said you were getting married…"

"Because you never…" her hands were shaking, as she covered her mouth and closed her eyes. "Oh God, I'm sorry… Lets-lets just pretend this didn't happen, okay."

And with that, she turned around, wiped her eyes and headed back into the party.

Nicklaus stood in the snow and the cold. She likes me? No, she loves me. Nicklaus followed behind her numbly, as they entered the room, music filling his ears. Did he? Did he love her? His heart thumped in his chest, his stomach filled with butterflies. Oh god, he did! Emily was right, of course he loved her! He loved her so much he thought he might die with all the love in his veins. Why? Why did he deny himself this…this tremendous feeling?

Nicklaus watched Emily walk across the ballroom and into the toilet. He wanted to run up and grab her. He had to show her, show her how much he…God, the words just seemed so small, but how could he explain?

Suddenly, he ran up to the band, and spoke quickly to them. He moved over to the piano, and waited; the investors staring at him in confused and expectant silence. He waited, and waited, and then she appeared, beautiful as ever in ivory.

"This song is for Emily Brooker."

Emily stopped dead, her back to him.

Nicklaus slowly brought his fingers to the keys of the grand piano, as the music began to whisper into existence. Emily turned around. If he looked at her, he knew he'd be breathless, so he closed his eyes.

#Once there was a way homeward…

Everything started flashing black and white, as everything started shaking.

8

#Golden Slumbers…

Dudley's eyes opened, staring at foggy images all around him. He was freezing, his skin numb from the cold. Someone had their hand on his face, the heat from it burned into it. When he tried to move his arm to push them away, his arm was trapped, they both were. _Where was Emily?_

"Dudley?" someone was panting. "Dudley, are you awake? It's Harry."

"Harry…?" He felt dizzy, and he wanted to close his eyes.

"No-no! Eyes open, Dudley!" the voice said again. "That's it, Dud."

"Ha-rrr-y, I really think we should get Madam Pomfrey."

"Neville, shut up!" Harry snapped. "And just-just keep hold of his leg."

"Harry, mate, Neville's right. He looks really bad." _That…that was Ron, _he thought_._ Bit by bit, Dudley's mind started to return.

"Yeah, Harry." _That was Seamus._

"Come on, Harry." _That was…who was that? Oh yeah, Dean. Hold on?_ _That means._

Dudley widened his eyes as far as they could go. "Is this a Private party, or can anyone join…"

"Dudley!" all five boys exclaimed. Dudley became rapidly aware as to why he couldn't move his limbs, as for some reason each one of the boys was sitting on one, and Harry was holding his head.

"Get off me." He pushed them away, and sat up. He felt nauseous and dizzy, his ears were ringing, and his robes were soaked through. "Urgh, my head."

He looked around at the boys, and saw that they were all wearing wet and snow-covered dressing gowns. Dudley touched his head. "Ow! What happened?"

"You…banged your head?" Harry leaned forward. "Have you been drinking?"

"What? No, why?" Dudley tried to stand up, but the whole hallway felt like it was rocking from side to side.

Harry frowned, and stepped back so that he stood in front of all the Gryffindor boys. "You sound drunk."

"He…he probably has a concussion," Neville whispered beside Harry. "I have them all the time. We should take him to Madam Pomfrey."

"No!" Dudley shouted, and toppled forward. Ron, Harry and Seamus grappled with him, just managing to keep him up right. He felt like he was trying to think through sludge. "No more Hospital wing, not ever, that place is…is something not…fun. Wh-why are you all wet?"

"Because you decided it would be a good idea to have a frolic the snow, during a blizzard!" Harry pushed Dudley's shoulders against the wall.

"Mate, calm down," Ron whispered worriedly, putting his hand on Harry's arm. "Filch is still about."

"Where do you think he is?" Dean said, looking around.

"I know!" Dudley loudly. Seamus covered his mouth with his hand.

"Sssssshhhh" all five boys put their fingers on their lips at once, which, for some reason, Dudley found funny. He laughed loudly, and they did it again, which only served to make him laugh harder.

"Never mind Filch. He can barely stand up on his own," Ron said, a thin layer of sweat starting to appear just around his ginger hairline. Much whispering ensued, not much of which Dudley could follow, and he was starting to feel a lot like he was…drunk.

"We have to take him to the hospital wing, mada- ow! Ow! Ow! Argh." Dudley had just kneed Neville in-between the legs, and all the boys pulled faces, as the small boy dramatically fell to his knees, cupping himself.

"No hospital wing." Dudley glared at all the boys adamantly.

"We'll never get into the tower anyway." Dean, who was standing next to Neville, cupped his own unmentionables just in case. "It's past curfew. Lockdown will have started."

Everyone groaned.

"Wha-what's going on?" Dudley, who was finding it hard to keep up with the hushed conversation, tried to appear as alert as possible. "What's the plan?"

"There isn't a plan," Harry gritted his teeth. "It's past curfew, we're locked out of the tower until morning."

"Awww, there's always a plan, Harry." Dudley smiled, and sang in a singsong voice. "You just don't know what it is yet."

"Guys," Dean said slowly. "I don't think it'll be a good idea to let him sleep."

There were nods of agreement all round, even Dudley, although he had no-idea why. "You know…you know what we…we should have a sleepover at my place."

Harry laughed. "Ha-ha, Dud, somehow I don't think your parents would agree to…"

"No, no, no." He pushed himself off the wall. How could he explain? The words weren't forming in his mouth at all. So instead, Dudley began moving forward. He lost his bearing a bit, but continued forward. Luckily, it shouldn't be too far. "Come on!"

"_Dudley?" _the boys called him, but he carried on, retaining against the wall. "Come back!"

Their arms seem to come out of nowhere, steading him, and smiled.

"Dudley, what are you doing?"

"Taking you to my Room." He spun around, and it made him double over. Harry took his hand gently.

"Come on, Dud," Harry said in a much softer voice. "We're all going to see Madam…"

"No, Harry, noooo!"

"Yes, Dudley," Harry smiled, and pulled lightly. "Come on."

"Yeah, Dud, it'll be…fun." Seamus was under Dudley's left arm.

"Yeah, mate, real…educational." Ron was under Dudley's right.

Neville looked around. "Yeah, and…yeah. There'll be cake!"

"What? NO! The cake is a lie. Aww, you guys are full of BS…" Dudley's feet seemed to collapse under him, but luckily the boys were able to keep him upright. Together they carried him to the hospital wing.

Dudley started to swing out against them.

8

The next day, Dudley woke up in the Hospital wing to the sound of kids laughing. He sat up, wondering why he was in the Hospital wing again?

He closed his eyes, and for a second it was if his mind was flinging about in the inside of his head, like a ricocheting bullet, as memories from the night before seemed to be playing catch up.

Everything up to swinging out… Dudley gasped suddenly, and felt his stomach dip. He felt wrong, as he dipped again, and leaned over the side of the bed. He wasn't sick, fortunately, but he did, however, fall off the bed. Five boys jumped out of the other beds in the wing, and they hopped over and sat on the bed opposite.

Dudley looked up. Seamus, Dean, Neville and Ron were looking down, laughing at him.

He looked back at them. They looked to be all in some serious need of medical treatment, as Seamus and Ron were holding cloths on their faces, Dean had his hand wrapped up, and Neville had his pyjama leg rolled up and something plastered to his shin.

"I…" He felt terrible, as embarrassment made his skin prickle. "I am sooo sorry, you guys."

They stopped giggling, but they continued to grin.

"It's fine, Dud." Seamus held a rag to his eye, sitting on his bed. "You were all confused."

"Yeah, man." Dean shrugged, the only one not wearing a bandage of some sort. "You didn't know what you were doing."

"What they said," Neville and Ron said together, pointing to the other two.

"Here we are again, Mr Evans." Madam Pomfrey waved her wand over him. "Always a pleasure, hmm." She sighed. "At least its only minor injuries this time. You can go. And you four," she turned to the four boys sitting on the bed. "I've already told you to go."

"We're going, we're going." Seamus jumped off the bed, and held his hand out to Dudley. Dudley grabbed his arm, while Seamus pretended to pull. "Whoo! Guys, I might need some help here."

Dudley stared at him, and Seamus beamed back. Dudley smirked. "You, sir, are a nob."

All the boys barked into laugher. It was then when Dudley realised…Harry wasn't there.

He tried to keep his smile, as Seamus pulled him up. "How about we get some real clothes on, and have some breakfast, mate."

"Hmm." Dudley looked down. He wanted to go to the Room of Requirement, and he wanted to see Harry. He looked up, and the four of them were looking at him expectantly.

"Oh, I forgot. Here, Dudley." Neville threw something towards him. It went wide, and Dudley reached out to grab it. He didn't even have to look to know that it was his wand. "It was in the snow."

"Th-thanks." Dudley stared at the stick. "How did you guy know where I was by the way?"

Seamus put his arm over Dudley's shoulder. "How about we talk about it when we get to the dorm? Where it's safer to talk."

Dudley looked over to where Seamus was gesturing with his head. Madam Pomfrey was flicking her wand at the beds, a simple cleaning charm. Dudley nodded. "Okay then, breakfast it is."

"Thank Merlin." Ron stretched, and threw his bandage on Dudley's bed, the other boys doing the same.

_Why was Ron here?_ Dudley questioned, as he would have thought Ron would have gone with Harry. _Unless Harry wanted to be alone…_

The five of them stepped out of the hospital wing, and they hurriedly made their way to the tower, not wanting to be caught in their nightwear. Luckily it was still early, as he could tell, mostly because they didn't see anyone wandering about, as they walked down the corridors. As expected, they saw Miss Norris, who watched them, but she didn't go and get Filch, which meant they were in the 'okay zone' of being allowed to walk around the castle.

They made it to the common room, still laughing. Dudley had to laugh with them at some points, because some of what they were saying was genuinely quite funny, mostly because they called each other rude names, which they didn't even understand. In that sense, it was a bit like hanging out with the older boys in the boxing area during practise.

The bundled into the common room, muscling their way past each over, Neville the last one back in. They then raced and did the same in the dorm. Seamus then jumped on Dudley's back, and Dudley carried him as best as he could, and then threw him on the nearest bed. He was then blindsided by Ron, Dean and Neville who rammed him onto the bed. They roughhoused until they were all exhausted, which felt like an hour or maybe more. It was oddly relaxing and fun…really fun. He couldn't remember the last time he did it.

"That was ace." Neville sat up. "Who won?"

Dudley and Seamus looked at each other. In truth it was between them, as they were the last ones standing. "It's a draw."

"Mmmmmmmm!"

They all looked over to Ron, who had his head implanted into his pillow, by Dean, who was sitting on his back.

"Dean, get off him." Dudley smiled, as he turned to his side._ It's too bad Harry isn't here_. With that thought, his heart sank in his chest; as all the joy he was just feeling seemed to drain away.

"So," he sighed quickly, pushing himself against the bed-frame, so that he was sitting up. "How did you guys know…well, that I was out in the snow?"

A gently apprehensive silence fell in the dorm. As Dudley looked around, he realised why. Everyone slowly moved so that they were sitting around Seamus, and they all seemed to clamp up. Forming a little group, but with Dudley as a separate, yet respected, outsider.

"Ha, you don't waste any time do ya, Dud. Ha." Seamus looked a bit…hesitant, nervous even, as he spoke. When they were all together, they nearly looked like a gang that had been caught doing something they shouldn't have.

_It's as if,_ Dudley couldn't quite put his finger on it. He turned his full attention on to Seamus. He was obviously the 'leader', or a least someone with the answers that he was wanting.

"You've all gone rather quiet, you know." His eyes drifted to each of them, looking for the weakest link. "Tell me what's going on."

"Seamus," Dean whispered. "Show him."

Dudley's eyes flicked back to Seamus. "Show me what?"

"It when all glowy, last night." Seamus reluctantly held out his right hand. Dudley took in his hands and examined it. There was a small, thin, pale angular scar on the back of Seamus's hand.

"And it talked!" Neville jumped forward on the bed.

"What?"

"It didn't talk, Neville. Merlin. It was Dudley."

Dudley raised an eyebrow. "Again, what? You know what, start from the beginning."

"Umm, well, it's like…" a look of hard concentration forced its way on Seamus's face.

"I think it first happened during Halloween," Dean interrupted, and looked to Seamus for permission. Seamus nodded. "When you came in all pow! It went all red and glowy then."

Dudley rested his hand on his chin, still looking at Seamus's hand. "I see, then what?"

"Then…" Seamus bit his lip. "Then I got smart."

"You got…smart?" He let go of Seamus's hand.

"He's been driving Hermione crazy. It's been great!" Ron said, grinning, as he then turned to Seamus. "You still need to say sorry to her, mate."

"Yeah, I know, I will." He rolled his eyes.

"Hey," Dudley clicked his fingers. "Got smart? What do you mean?"

"Umm, err, well, I can remember things more clearly," Seamus counted off on his fingers. "I learn faster, I can cast my spells much better, and easer. It's like schools more fun now."

He pulled a face, as did the other boys.

"Oh no, what a horror. Merlin forbid you like bettering yourselves," Dudley said sarcastically. He closed his eyes, trying to think. "Have you told any of the teachers, or Madam Pomfrey?"

"Err, no..."

"Why?"

"Because I…I kinda like being…smart."

He sighed heavily. "So let me get this straight… Your hand glows, you get smart, it glows again, and you know that I need help…"

"No…well, yeah. But you called me… Well, Harry, but…"

"I called Harry?"Dudley opened his eyes. In the snow, he'd called out. He was missing something. What was he…? Just then, Dudley ran his hand over his face, and he stopped. He opened his hands and stared at the scars in his palms.

All of a sudden, something went ping in the back of Dudley's mind._ Could it… no… possibly._

"Then I had this sort of… I dunno what'd you call it, but it was like…a vision, I think. So I got everyone up and…"

Dudley got off the bed and stated pacing. _What the hell? Come on, Dudley, think how you can find out. Of course, Mr Crow's Goggles! _He ran over to his trunk at the end of his bed, and started pulling things out, but they weren't there.

"Bugger, they're not in here." That meant they were in the Room of Requirement. _No, that's okay. All my notes are there, but that means…_

"Dud, what going on?"

"Guys, I just need to go…"

"Running away, Dudley?"

"Percy?" Dudley's eyes narrowed, as he turned around. Was he ever surprised to see Harry and Hermione standing behind him! "Harry? Hermione? What are you doing here?"

"I sleep here. What are you lot up to?" Harry said dryly.

"Transfiguration started fifteen minutes ago." Hermione looked a little out of breath. "McGonagall said she's going to start knocking off points."

Dudley closed his eyes. He really wanted to figure out what was going on, as new ideas were already bouncing around in his skull. He hadn't felt this motivated since…well, since he had left the Hospital Wing and got into the Room of Requirement.

"Missing one lesson won't hurt. I've already missed a whole month." He turned to the boys, who were now looking around, not sure what to do. "Seamus, get some clothes on, you're coming with me. Sorry, guys, the rest of you will have to go."

"Dudley, you can't be serious?" Hermione looked at him in shock.

He looked away from her. "To be honest, Hermione, I am still a bit angry and disappointed with you right now…so could you, please, leave me alone for a bit. Percy, you can piss right off."

Hermione's jaw dropped. Percy whole face turned beet-red, which would have given Vernon a run for his money. Ron's barely controlled snigger could be heard from behind them.

Dudley ignored them all, and looked over to Harry. "You want to know what I'm working on, Harry? Come with me and Seamus…and I'll show you."


	16. why? what? how?

Thanks for all the reviews you lovely people!**  
**

**15 What? Why? How?**

Hermione ran down the staircase, leaving Harry and Percy standing in the doorway staring at Dudley. Harry looked away. They stood in silence, as the boys began to get changed.

"Ready." Seamus jumped next to Dudley, pushing his foot into his shoe. Dudley stepped forward, but Percy blocked his way.

"Move, Percy." Dudley commanded in a bored tone.

Percy crossed his arms in defiance. "Not a chance, Evans. You are to report to Professor McGonagall for Transfiguration."

"Fine." He turned slightly, and then swung as hard as he could, hitting Percy directly in-between his legs. Dudley then grabbed the fifth year by the front of his robe and threw him to the floor. All the Gryffindors in the room watched with their eyes wide…not quite sure what to make of what just happened.

Dudley paused, and then walked over Percy so he could get to Harry who still didn't look at him. Dudley stood a little straighter "Are you coming, Harry?"

"I…" Harry hesitated, and then shook his head no.

_Stubborn,_ Dudley thought worriedly. He wished he knew what was going on in Harry's head, just so that he could understand what was making him act so…difficult. It was like living with an emotional pendulum.

_Although to be fair, I'm no different._ Dudley thought. The twins were always making fun of his 'mood swings', as they called them.

"Harry, we both said things that you regret…"

Harry looked up at him sharply, and then ran down the staircase.

Dudley yelled after him. "We! I meant we! Damn it."

"Ouch." Seamus pulled a face, as he stumbled by Percy who was curled up on the floor and coughing so much that he could barely speak. "See yah later, Percy."

Dudley turned to Seamus, and smiled. There was work to be done, things to be discovered. He mind began jolting alive again with ideas. Things he wanted to learn about. "Come on, Mr Finnigan, we have a mystery to solve."

Seamus shrugged, looking a bit uneasy now. "Cool."

Dudley started to move down the staircase when something occurred to him. If what he thought was happening, then he would need a control group, just to be sure.

He stopped; causing Seamus to fall into him a bit. "How about we bring Dean? He's your friend, right?"

Dudley didn't see, because his back was turned and his mind was thoroughly at work. But Seamus gave a sigh of relief as he waved his friend over.

8

"So where we going, Dud?" Dean asked, as they waited for the staircase to take them to the other side of the castle.

"Huh? Oh, you'll see. You'll love her, she's brilliant." Dudley said airily, as he stepped forward on to the staircase. The boy jumped on behind him.

"Her?" Seamus and Dean said together.

"Hmm…oh. It's not really a 'her'." Dudley smiled, still deep in thought. "You'll see in a sec."

The boys followed Dudley to the tapestry of the troll in a tutu attempting to do a ballet. The room didn't appear as it usually did when Dudley neared. _It's probably because the boys are here,_ Dudley thought. _She doesn't know whom to focus on_.

He stopped and turned to the two boys.

In a way, Dudley felt kind of protective of the room, as he didn't really want to show or share it with anyone, but on the other hand, however, it was exciting to show someone else what he'd been doing. It was like doing a grand reveal at an exhibit, or an art show. Of course, he would have preferred to be doing it for Harry.

He took a deep breath. It was like he had painted a really good painting, and this was the first time he got to show anyone. He was a little bit…giddy. "Close your eyes. Count to three."

Dean and Seamus looked at each other, then shrugged and closed their eyes. Dudley quickly walked back and forth three times, and the door to the room appeared immediately.

"Come with me…" He took hold of the brass doorknob and opened the door, grinning like a fool. "…to a world of pure imagination."

Seamus looked at the room. "Wow. Dean…"

"Yeah, I can see. How'd you do that, Dudley?"

"Magic. Come on, meet my lab." Dudley led the boys in. He showed them his desks, the work that he'd done, some of which was a bit dusty because it hadn't been touched in a month. He showed them boards, papers from some of his notebooks, and explained how the room worked.

"…and through that door is the swimming pool, and over there is the library." He smiled, pointing randomly at the walls, as two doors appeared.

"Ay, wow." Seamus said, putting down one of Dudley's full workbooks.

"I'm glad you guys like her. I think I'd go crazy without her here." Dudley laughed, as he picked up Mr Crow's goggles from off the closest table. "Anyway, back to work. We came here for a reason after all."

He put the Goggles on his forehead, and moved behind a desk. A quill and a piece of parchment appeared on it as he sat down. Two more chairs appeared opposite the desk, and he signalled the boys to sit.

"Roll up your sleeve, Seamus." Dudley said, rolling up his own sleeve on his left hand, as he spoke. "You too please, Dean."

"Me?" Dean said with a bit of anxiety. "Why?"

"I just need to see something. It's absolutely nothing to worry about, I assure you. That okay?" he said assuredly, laying his bare arm on the table.

Dean looked to Seamus, unsure, but Seamus just shrugged and rolled up his robe and put his arm on the table. Dean reluctantly did the same.

Dudley grinned, almost twitching with excitement, as he pulled the goggles down with his right hand.

For a few moments, he was utterly dazzled. The whole room was ablaze with bright lights that whizzed around the room, swirling and twirling up the walls, through the air. Every brick was frutescent with magic. At first, it looked like absolute chaos, but it wasn't. _It can't be,_ he thought, as he followed the flow. They brightened in beats.

He flew from his seat so wildly that it toppled over. His heart jumped, as he practically threw himself towards the closest pillar and began examining it with a savage eagerness. Through the goggles the pillar was infused with a variegated network of light, alike a cross between forked lightning and tangled bindweed. It shuddered, pulsated and swirled with magic. _Like-like…_

"Like a heart," he whispered. "Which means…" Dudley had to put his arm out to rest against the pillar. This was…was one of… No! The biggest find he'd made yet. "You're a powerhouse, babe."

Dudley turned his eyes, which were widened so much that if he could see his own refection, he would wonder how'd they managed to stay inside his head this long. The pillar he had rested his hand on, the flows of magic… _What must be the veins, if my heart analogy holds true._ The 'veins'/vines started like some sort of tentacle-clad jellyfish creature, which moved under where his hand was rested.

Dudley was breathing fast and shakily, as he pushed his hand harder against the stone.

He felt a small spot in the centre of his palm beginning to get a very slight prickly feeling. If it hadn't been for his being able to see it, Dudley might not have even noticed the tingle. He pulled his hand away, and peered into the gap. Ribbons of splintered kaleidoscopic-silk filled the space, like rainbow coloured electricity passing through two electrodes.

He looked to his arm. Surges of magic were travelling through the pathways of his nervous system, and across the magical dots throughout his body. His eyes narrowed with thought. _It looks like some sort of…transfer_.

Dudley shook his head. That wasn't…possible, surely. It was reacting to him? He could feel the magic filling him up, with the sensation of a soft vibration.

He looked around the room again, following the 'veins' of the room up the pillar, the network of roots all over the room moved around slightly. _Are they…are they moving to maximise the output of magic in the room_? Dudley put his opposite hand to his head. This was a marvel!

_How long has this been going on? Is it only in this part of the castle? _His mind felt like it was going a million miles a second, and he realised he was frowning so hard that his brows were hurting.

"Is this…me?" he whispered, almost lovingly caressing the stone.

"Umm, Dudley?" Seamus voice made him jump.

Dudley turned around, and he almost fell backwards with surprise. On Seamus's hand, his arm up to where he had rolled his sleeve, his neck and on his face were a familiar system of dots and quake-like systems, pulsing with magic. Yet they were somewhat dimmer than his.

The rest of Seamus, or rather what Dudley could see, was eradiating light off his skin, the 'normal way' of producing magic. It was the same as how Mr Crow's and Madam Pomfrey's had done. As well as, as Dudley now examined him, how Dean was producing magic.

"Incredible," he gasped. "Seamus, take your shirt off."

An hour later, if anyone had walked into the Room of Requirement at that moment, they would see eleven-year-old Seamus Finnigan and Dudley Evans in nothing but their underwear, with arms held out. While Dean Tomas, wearing Dudley's goggles, was sketching them onto a large piece of parchment.

"Hold still!" Dean snapped, throwing a book at Seamus from over Dudley's desk.

"I can't! My arms are tired." Seamus complained, again.

"Suck it up, Finnigan! Are you a man or a mouse?" Dudley laughed.

"There, I'm finished." Dean said proudly, lifting the goggles off his head, and both Dudley and Seamus sighed. Dudley quickly moved to where Dean was behind the desk, and took hold of the parchment. Seamus made a dive for his robes.

"This is amazing, Dean. Really." Dudley said, lifting the parchment towards the light so that he could see the blueprint traces of his magical frayed wire-like skeleton, and Seamus's half-skeleton, half-generic human-boy outline. Both of them had front and back views.

Each blueprint was remarkably well detailed. "You should be an artist, Dean."

"Thanks." Dean smiled to himself, before frowning. "What are they though?"

"People who draw pictures, sometimes even good ones." Dudley smiled to himself at the confused look on Dean's face.

"The lights he means. They're…the lights…they're what's making me smart, aren't they?" Seamus said, pulling his trousers up to his knees and hopping in them.

"Err, not exactly… Not in truth anyway. While I have no idea of the exact nature of…what's going on. Until a little while ago, I thought that they were a different system of making, well, magic." Dudley huffed, and scratched his head, as he sat himself on the edge of the desk. "But its not... I think."

_It's me, its got to be. _He couldn't be sure, but then looked at Seamus through the goggles and at the Room of Requirement. His touch had changed them somehow, he was sure of that, even though he knew that couldn't be. Although Seamus and the others obviously believed that whatever he had accidentally done to Seamus had…improved him.

_Well,_ Dudley thought, scratching his palms, _I can test for that, but the Room… What in Merlin's name was going on with the room?_

He was starting to develop a dull pain in the front of his head

"Different way of magic?" Dean asked, still frowning. "What's that mean?"

Dudley vaguely heard Dean say something, but his focus was still on the drawings, as he laid them down on the desk and waved his wand over them. _"Holegraphia'mtant'revolo."_

The ink on the parchment started to glow, and the back views started to slide up and the front views slide down. As the glowing ink met, they converged into two twisted tumbleweed balls of thread, before rising upwards and off the parchment, untangling outwards as they did. Soon, two spinning 3D wire-like skeletal miniature models of the boys were floating an inch way from the paper.

"Whoa, that was awesome." Seamus reached out to touch them, but Dudley slapped his hand. "Oi! I just wanna look."

"Look with your eyes, not with your hands." Dudley said, his eyes narrowing on the rotating models. He held out his hand to Dean, and after a moment of silent hesitation, Dean dropped the goggles on to Dudley's palm. "How do you think magic works?"

"Err…Professor McGonagall said that…you need to, err." Dean scrunched up his face. "Well, you have to want it…"

"No," Seamus interrupted quickly. "You have to know what yah want. Then you have to…do something."

Dudley looked at the boys sideways, a rueful smirk tugging at his lips. "I asked you how magic worked, and you've _tried_ to tell me how _you_ do magic, which is a completely different kettle of fish. And you don't even know how _that_ works. I honestly can't comprehend your people's, what's the word, insouciance."

"Magic is part of the world _you live in,_ yet you don't even question it!" A daunting feeling washed over him. He was going to have to re-jiggle his equation, as magic was not fitting into the box he had been creating.

Whilst Dudley rubbed his temples, deep in thought, Seamus turned to Dean and asked. "What's 'insouciance' mean?"

"Not a clue, mate." Dean shrugged his shoulders. "He lost me at 'fish'."

"Did you know, we don't know anything!" Dudley jumped up, startling the boys. "In fact, the more we know, the less we don't know."

"Whaaat?" Seamus and Dean said at the same time.

Dudley smiled, alive and animated. "What I'm trying to say is that even with all our understanding and instruments of testing, we have yet to crack into 0.01% of what the universe has given us."

"Right, okay. Dud, you're kind of sounding a bit…." Dean offered carefully, lifting his hand halfway and shaking it.

Dudley felt he was going a bit mad, as everywhere he looked his mind would burst with the tsunami of possibilities. He wanted to laugh, jump, dance and hit his head against the wall. He knew straight away at the beginning of the year, maybe even before that, that magic was going to be a gigantic task…but this was going to be colossus. It was actually a bit daunting.

He closed his eyes. Could he really do this? The dull pressure in his head was throbbing painfully. He wanted to…Merlin he wanted to. _But can I_ …

Just then, Seamus threw Dudley his robe, which landed heavily on his head. Seamus whined, "I'm hungry. Can we do this after dinner?"

Dudley opened his eyes, and just began to laugh. He pulled on his robe, still laughing, and stuffed the goggles into his pocket, where he felt something in there. He pulled it out. It was a crumpled up piece of paper.

Dudley unfolded it, and in the centre of it was a thumbprint, which was inside a ring of symbols that Dudley didn't recognise. From the top of the rind curled out nine 'S' that stretched towards the four corners of the paper, where in each corner was a silhouette of a bird with its wings held out, as if in flight. "Hmm, that's…odd."

"Dudley, your…"

"My nose is bleeding, yes. It happens…" He suddenly clasped to his knees, his heart racing, as fear and panic shot through his system.

_Nicklaus, run! _

Then it just…stopped. He must have blacked out for a second, because he was lying on the floor. His whole body was shaking with adrenalin, as Seamus and Dean took hold of him and helped him up.

"Err…" Dudley felt groggy, and deeply embarrassed. "What happened?"

Dean looked up at him from under his arm. "I think you had a fit. You're not epileptic, are you, Dud? I have a cousin who's epileptic."

Dudley stared at Dean for what felt like a long time. "I didn't know you had a cousin."

Dean shrugged. "You never asked."

"It was scary as hell, Dud. Maybe you should…"

"You mention the hospital wing, and I swear…" Dudley warned, moving his arms off the boys. He was feeling normal now. Whatever it was, it had passed. "Let's go get something to eat."

As they left the room, Dudley paused. "Dean, Seamus, can you tell me some more about your families?"

The boys looked at each other strangely, while at the same time a large pig came around the corner and charged down the hallway…but they just shrugged.

8

Dudley had lost Seamus and Dean to Fred and George, who were showing them how to do a charm that made shoes explode a farting noise when someone walked. He sat in the magical artefacts area of the library, fiddling with Mr Crow's goggles and a book, _Vol 3: The Unseen Critters And How To Find Them_.

Having walked around the castle, wearing the goggles, he had assessed how far whatever was happening in the Room of Requirement had spread throughout the castle. Apparently not much, as the only areas affected seemed to be the hidden entrances and exits of the room. What was interesting, however, was with the goggles on, the whole castle seemed to be made out of a single block of light, but compared to Room it was all a bit…lifeless.

He picked out three books from the magical artefacts section, five about magical architecture and buildings, and three about the history of Hogwarts, before sitting down at a table at the far end of the library. For the rest of the afternoon, he read and wrote into another notebook.

"Dudley?" He looked up from his notebook, and found Hermione standing by his table, looking rather nervous and quite cross. "I just came over to say that-that you are the…"

"I'm sorry about this morning, Hermione. I was coming to see you this evening actually, as I wanted to ask you something." Dudley looked back to his notebook. He was still annoyed at her for turning Harry against him, but he could do with someone to chat with about him.

"...most…pardon?" Hermione stared at the top of Dudley's head. Dudley made a scribe in his notebook about a paragraph on spare rooms he'd read in one of his books, and copied an approximate wizards waste magic to building size equation, before closing his notebook and looking back to Hermione.

"I'm thinking of starting a project." He felt a dull pain nudge the front of his head, making him wince. "Well, actually that's not true. I've started a project, and have recently come to the conclusion that I need more people than myself to help run it."

Hermione stood and stared at him. "You…want my help?"

"I know you're only a kid…" Hermione made a face and opened her mouth, but Dudley quickly waved his hand dismissively. "No, that's a good thing. It means your mind still has time to grow. We both know you already have an exceptional memory."

Hermione half-smiled. "Thank you."

Dudley shook his head. "That wasn't a compliment. The truth is, Hermione, a memory is only ever going to get you so far. You have to start utilizing it in the proper way, and whilst that will happen overtime, if you help me with this project, then by my reckoning I can develop that memory into an outstanding mind."

He reached out and took her hands into his. "Hermione, join me and I will open up and unlock all your potential."

Hermione bit her lip and pulled her hands away. "You haven't said what it is you're doing."

Dudley looked into Hermione's eyes and smiled. "Trust me. Once you understand, it will blow your mind."

They must have stared at each other for a whole minute before Hermione finally sat down. Dudley smirked and handed Hermione Mr Crow's goggles.

8

"Can I see it?" Hermione asked, as she and Dudley climbed the staircase of Gryffindor tower. "The Room?"

"I'll show you tomorrow. I've had enough for one day I think. Fruncor." The Fat Lady swung open.

As soon as the porthole was opened, a huge bellow of shouting, yelling, jeering and a scream escaped. _"FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!_"

Dudley and Hermione scrabbled through the porthole at once. A crowd had formed in the middle of the common room, but Dudley couldn't see through the thickness of people. What little he could make out was that two boys were fighting each other.

George was on the outside of the group placing bets with some sixth years. As he turned around, he came face to face with Dudley, and swallowed hard. "Uh-oh. Fred! Daddy's home!"

Dudley didn't see Fred, but he saw someone sink away under someone's arm. George tried to escape by skipping around the still chanting crowd, which would have worked had it not been for his leg. Dudley gripped George's wrist before he could get away.

George reluctantly allowed himself to be hauled away by Dudley through the bulk of people. Dudley pulled out his wand from an old leather holster he'd found in the Room. He almost dropped it, when he saw who was 'having it out' in the centre.

Seamus and Harry were rolling about on the floor in a mass of robes and throbbing red faces. But not just Seamus and Harry, as Dean and Ron were having it out just next to them.

"Oi!" Dudley pushed himself forward, and dragged the first two boys apart, pulling them to their feet and pushing them into the crowd behind. Seamus and Harry threw themselves forward.

"Grab 'em!" Dudley yelled, pulling out his wand and flicking it in both directions, knocking the boys onto their arses. "_Now!"_

Three or four older boys in the crowd almost jumped at Dudley's command, and grabbed the two boys from under their arms, lifting the two skinny first-years up, so that their feet were comfortably dangling from the floor, whilst Dean and Ron were pulled apart and pushed to the floor.

"He started it!" Harry threw an accusing finger at Seamus. Dudley had never see Harry's face so fierce, or bruised.

"You bloody started it, TRAITOR!" Seamus threw himself forward again, but Dudley's wand hand shot into the air with a loud _WHIP–CRACK, _and an absolute silence fell over the common room.

"I don't care who 'started it', I'm finishing it!" Dudley stood firm with his arms spread out, ready for if either boy remembered they still had their wands in their pockets. "Now! What is going on?"

He turned his head to Seamus. "Why's Harry a traitor?"

"He's been telling McGonagall to send you home, Dud!"

A collative 'ooh' came from the surrounding horde of students.

"It's true!" Dean piped up.

"It's not like that, _Dean,_ Harry only said it by accident!" Ron's voice added.

Dudley turned to him. "What was that?"

"Easy, Dud." Fred and George made themselves known, tensing the atmosphere. "He is our brother."

Dudley turned his head slightly, as if to regard them. "I'm not going to do anything. Explain, Ron."

"Ask me! Leave him alone! Why don't you talk to me?" Harry pulled at his restrainers, but the older boys were much stronger and held him steady, one of them then putting his hand around Harry's mouth.

"Because…I am asking Ron." Dudley stared into Ron's eyes unblinking, making him tremble. "So, Ronald, would you mind explaining?"

"Err…well..." Ron squeaked. "W-when you didn't show up for tr-transfiguration, Professor McGonagall said she was gonna take points off."

Dudley scoffed. His thoughts about the methods of control, such as using house points, in his opinion were just plain ridiculous.

"But then Harry did that…"

Dudley frowned. "Did what?

"That, that noise." Ron tried to imitate the noise he was describing, but it came out as more of a snort. "And he said that you didn't care about things like getting points, and that the only way to-to make you follow the rules would be to-to-to…"

"Send me back home." Dudley finished for him.

He now turned to Harry, whose ferocity had melted away and left him looking rather meek, and being held up by the bigger students made him by contrast seem much smaller.

"Yes." Ron gasped in relief, shaking slightly.

"I see," Dudley replied. "Put them down."

There was a collective "huh?" from the crowd.

"Now!" he said more forcefully. The boys holding Seamus and Harry dropped them, Seamus landing on his feet, and Harry landing on his knees.

"Harry, you know what I'm going say." Dudley stood in front of Harry, wand in hand. "Don't you?"

Harry bowed his head weakly.

"Look at me, Harry."

Harry slowly crooked his head up. There wasn't a noise in the crowd.

Dudley leaned forward, and took Harry into his arms and whispered. "I'm sorry, Harry. I forgive you." He squeezed him tightly. "I love you."

Harry started shaking with anger, embarrassment, shame, and about a hundred other emotions that he couldn't name. In the end, he threw his arms around Dudley and started crying into his shoulder.

Over their heads, the crowd shifted away uncomfortably, except a few girls who were huddled together, weeping and making cooing sounds.

"That is soooo beautiful." Lavender Brown said to Parvati, blowing her nose loudly into a fistful of tissues.

"Well, that was a bit anticlimactic." George said to Fred.

"We didn't even make a knut," said Fred.

McGonagall suddenly appeared though the porthole with Neville, almost knocking Hermione off her feet. "What is the mean of...this?"

"Oh, nothing." Dudley stood up, with Harry underarm. "A family matter. It's all sorted now."

McGonagall glowered over the common room. Seamus tried to hide his face under the arm of his cloak. "If that is the case, why are Mr Potter, Mr Finnigan, Mr Weasley and Mr Tomas ruffled and bruised? And Mr Longbottom has been telling me that there was some fighting between the four. And now I find you, Mr Evans. So would you mind explaining?"

"Yes, I would." Dudley turned and walked with Harry towards the dorms. Some people sniggered.

"Mr Evans! That is quite enough!" McGonagall crossed her arms, frustration clearly evident in her eyes. "You have left me no choice. Come with me."

8

Dudley walked the halls with Professor McGonagall in a stern silence. He'd really done it now. He had pushed too far, and now he was going to get pushed back.

_But surely Dumbledore wouldn't send me home. Not back to the Dursleys…or are they the Evans' now? I can't imagine Vernon being happy with that. _And not forgetting he'd saved the school, and stopped Voldemort.

Dudley closed his eyes when they got to the gargoyle protecting the staircase that led to Dumbledore's office.

_The Room! Magic! My Research! I couldn't just leave it._ _I've already lost so much time that_ _I could have been spending on it. Damn it! What about Harry? I couldn't leave Harry all on his own for Christmas, not after we just made up, that would be… inhumane. Hmm, I should really talk to Harry after this…I haven't even had time to get him a present._ These were just some of the thoughts racing through Dudley's mind, as he opened his eyes and walked up the spiral staircase with McGonagall. She knocked on the door once.

"Come in," came Dumbledore's cheerful voice from behind it. McGonagall led Dudley in with a reassuring hand on his shoulder. He disparately wanted to shrug it off.

As they entered the office, his eyes danced around the room, scanning it head-to-toe. He was tempted to do a little twirl, so that he could take in the full spec of the room. There were many glass cabinets filled with an assortment of instruments that Dudley recognised from the books, and even more that he didn't.

He also couldn't help but marvel at the array of paintings that hung around the walls. Hogwarts had had a lot of headmasters and mistresses. Overall the office left the impression of a rainbow; as it was certainly the most colourful room that Dudley had seen so far. He wondered what it would look like through Mr Crow's goggles.

"Ah, Mr Evans. Well, I can't say I wasn't expecting to see you, eventually that is," Dumbledore said, smiling gently, as he sat on the opposite side of a large desk that was cluttered with more (marvellously odd) contraptions.

The one that caught Dudley's eye the most was a cream ceramic vase with a blue outlined man fishing, and twelve blooming red roses resting out the top. "Mr Evans? Are you with us?"

Dudley remembered why he was there, and frowned darkly. Looking to McGonagall and then Dumbledore, he said, "Yes."

"Very good. Sweet?" Dumbledore gestured to a glass bowl, mostly hidden behind a copy of the Daily Prophet with 'Dudley' throwing the Troll's head, but it had all since stopped moving.

"No." Dudley crossed his arms coldly. McGonagall took her hand off his shoulder. "I want to go back to work."

"Oh? And what work would that be, Mr Evans?"

Dudley tensed, as Professor Snape slipped past him and stood on the left side of Dumbledore's desk, and Professor McGonagall took her place at the right. It felt to Dudley as if they were ganging up on him. _Why is Snape even here?_ His presence wasn't necessary, in his opinion.

Dumbledore opened a draw on his desk. Nine crumpled-up pieces of paper fluttered out and unfurled themselves, before filing together into Dumbledore's open hand.

"Do you know what these are, Dudley?"

He shook his head.

"These are the list of complaints I have received from Prefects…"

"Prefect you mean!" _Percy…that git! _Dudley thought to himself.

"Students, staff members…" Dumbledore continued, "…and parents."

"What? No way! There's no way I've upset that many people. Which students, whose parents?" the second the question left Dudley's mouth, the name _Malfoy _and the word _Slytherin_ suddenly sprung to mind.

"Mr Evans, you know that I can't relinquish that information," Dumbledore said wearily, perhaps foreseeing that Dudley wasn't going to comply easily. "Complaints aside, Dudley, you are already in trouble for disobeying teacher's orders, violent outbursts towards students and staff, hitting Prefects, not attending class, being out of the tower past curfew, leaving school-grounds unescorted and without permission, going to the pub with the Weasley twins and getting drunk. And a few others I might mention. This…fight, I believe was said to be started on your behalf?"

Out of the corner of Dudley's eye, he saw McGonagall nod curtly. He was aghast.

"What? Don't nod! You don't know anything about…nothing." He dropped his arms by his sides, and flushed with embarrassment at his own behaviour. He blamed it on his young body's hormones. He turned to Dumbledore. "The fight was between Seamus and Harry."

"You told me it was a family matter, Mr Evans." McGonagall put in.

"It was...!" Dudley turned to her, wide-eyed, and then lowered his gaze. "Partly… It's complicated."

Snape snorted, and Dudley looked at him sharply.

"Very well. We'll forget about the fight, shall we, on the need to avoid pointless arguments. However, the rest does still apply, my boy." Dumbledore was now looking at him thoughtfully, as if trying to unravel a puzzle.

"So," Dudley tried not to glare at the three professors. "What happens now?"

"Well, that is in for some…sympathetic discussion." Dumbledore stood up and came around his desk, so that he had no barriers and was face to face with him. "I have had an informative and comprehensive talk with Deacon Crow. He has recommended that you be sent home for your own safety…"

Dudley remembered the piece of paper that had vanished in the Room of Requirement, and suddenly realised it was the same paper that Mr Crow had left in the Hospital Wing. However, that raised further questions than it answered.

Dumbledore appeared to take Dudley's surprise as a reaction to Mr Crow being mentioned. But the fact that Mr Crow had been sticking his aura into his business didn't surprise Dudley at all. It was becoming more clear that Mr Crow had had some sort of interest in him, mostly since he hadn't yet mentioned the thievery of the goggles, so it made sense that he'd try to stay as close to Dudley as he could. At the moment that meant through Dumbledore.

"…and with his reinstatement as the Head of Department for The Study of Magic in the Ministry, and his, quite franking, superb understanding of magical phenomena. I would be an old fool not to heed his advice." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "I am, however, something of an old fool."

"Wait." Dudley said, putting a hand up. "Department for the Study of Magic? That's not… There's a Department for the Study of Magic?" He frowned, trying to recall whether such a thing existed, as it was a detail he knew he couldn't have missed.

"Mr Evans, please stay focused and stop trying to avoid…" McGonagall said, but was interrupted by Dudley, who paid her no attention.

"Well, of course, _they _would study magic," he said to himself, resting his forehead on his palm. "It's a must for a culture based on magic, but then…" He looked to Dumbledore, who was staring at him again over his spectacles. "Why isn't any of their research public? Or is it? Everything I've found is linked with mostly superfluous information."

"It has only been very recent that it has re-opened. There was something of a…_restriction_, on the work that was being conducted during the Second World War." Snape said with a curled up lip, something that resembled a smile, which led Dudley to believe that whatever work was being done was probably on the macabre side.

Dudley could understand that if to study magic, you'd need to understand the creatures able to manipulate it. And, considering the attitudes towards Muggle-borns in the Ministry during that time, he could guess testing wouldn't have been pleasant.

One of Dumbledore's sliver eyebrows rose. "You have an interest in the study of magic, Dudley?"

Dudley smiled superciliously to himself. "You could say that."

"Hmm, well then. Perhaps we could come to a positive agreement." Dumbledore brought his hands together. "You see Dudley, I am not very keen on you leaving this castle. You have drawn a lot of unwanted attention to yourself, after thwarting Voldermort's attempt at regeneration."

Dumbledore smiled when Dudley didn't flinch. "You have also enflamed the passions of those already wishing to harm you, and Harry, through your family connection."

Dudley nodded, already knowing that. He hadn't really thought about it, but on some level he knew that having Harry care for him, and vice-versa, would make them both targets by outside forces, for the influence over the other. Dudley himself considered Dumbledore to be one of those forces, and so listened, and regarded the old wizard's words suspiciously.

"With Deacon's suggestion that your remaining here could be endangering your health and that of the school that…"

"Wait… What? Hold on!" Dudley flipped his head to look at the three teachers, and threw his arms out expressively. "What do you mean _'Endangering my health and that of the school_'? You can't just spring that in a sentence!"

Dumbledore knitted his brow. "It was decided that you would not be informed until you had recovered."

"Well?" Dudley crossed his arms. "I'm waiting."

McGonagall stepped forward. "Mr Evans, your…_condition_, has changed."

"Changed…how?"

Dumbledore laid his right arm across his stomach, and pinched his chin with his thumb and forefinger with his left. "Mr Crow explained it as your body being in a state of: 'assimilation-crisis and magical generation-perpetuation, that is worsened by the unusually high concentration of mystical forces in the immediate environment.'"

Dumbledore smiled, a smile that both suggested he understood everything he had just said and that it was still all hogwash. "He seemed confident that you would understand what that means."

"Assimilation-crisis, and magical generation-perpetuation?" Dudley closed his eyes. A memory flashed behind his eyes of the rampaging Troll, and then the wall of ice and a feeling of pulling, pain and then a vast…fullness.

"Oh," Dudley said, opening his eyes. Something seemed to twist and fix together in his head. _Using all that magic for my rejuvenation, has tricked my body into thinking that it should always be making that same amount of magic._

He looked at the slow picture of him throwing the troll's head and the lightning. _That would be the expulsion of the excess energy. My state of hibernation in the hospital wing lowered my need for magic, but now that I'm awake I'm drawing and producing more magic. _

He nodded.

"Mr Crow believes that it could be fatal for you to stay here for too long," Dumbledore continued, "possibly resulting in an explosion. However, if you move to a magically weaker environment, you will eventually…"

"My body will learn to regulate. Yes, I understand!" Dudley snapped and ran his fingers through his long blonde hair before falling back, so that he was sitting on the floor. _Damn it!_ _Typical!_ _For F**K's sake!_

"I haven't got a choice, have I? I stay…I die, and take the whole school with me." He bit into his knuckle as he spoke. Frustration plumed through his veins in a fury.

Dumbledore gently offered a smile. "Dudley, my boy, this can be an opportunity."

"How?" Dudley shouted through gritted teeth.

"You are interested in the study of magic, yes? And we don't want you falling behind. If you cooperate, I will…pull some strings and make sure you are sent all the work you could ever possibly want." Dumbledore offered an open hand.

"Mr Evans, the train will arrive this weekend." McGonagall slowly knelt down, which was peculiar to see her doing. "We think it best that you leave your wand here. To remove temptation."

Dudley turned to her, his face distorted with anger and desperation. "I. Would. Rather. Die!"


	17. Because

oops, I accident upload the wrong unaltered chapter my bad. Sorry everyone. Feel like a right idiot.

Thanks to storyseeker for tell me. so embarrassed!

**Because**

"I'd rather die."

Dudley could feel the core of him burning white hot with frustration, and brittle with despair. His arms shuddered with magic, his scars feeling as though they would burst with a thousand volts at any moment.

"Dudley, please." Dumbledore knelt down in front of him. "I'm not doing this to torture you. Look at yourself. This must be done."

"No, that's not the problem! It isn't a must!" Dudley forced himself to his feet on pure rage. _How dare they!_ _How dare they!_ He was breathing hard, his fists balled as a single drop of sweat slid down his flaming beetroot red temple. "Because magic doesn't work that way,"

He doubled over, breathless. His chest felt like a bulldozer had landed on his chest. "It doesn't come from the wand, and it isn't made by it either! It more complex than-_argh!"_

He fell down and forward. Dumbledore caught him. "I've got you, my boy."

"Headmaster, this is getting out of hand. I suggest we take the wand before the boy loses complete control of his power and destroys us all." Snape smoothly slipped his wand out from the sleeve of his robe.

"Severus!" Professor McGonagall stepped forward, defiantly. "That isn't necessary."

"Can you not feel _that,_ Minerva?"

"Of course I can, but we do not need to resort to violence!" The only time Dudley had seen Professor McGonagall yell like that had been at him and the twins after the Hogshead incident.

"Severus, Minerva is right. Lower your wand."

"But-" Snape tightened his grip on his wand and stared defiantly at the headmaster.

Dumbledore held Snape's gaze with a look of grave seriousness. "Lower your wand, Severus."

Dudley pushed away from Dumbledore's arms, his head clouded in unfocused fury. He could pin down the emotions swelling in his gut. _How dare they! How dare they!_

The thought chanted in his mind like thunder, louder and faster, spiralling, burning and exploding inside his mind. _How dare they!_ _How dare they!_ _How dare they!_ This went on until it became something…more.

He could feel thick tears rolling down his cheeks and blood dripping from his nose, which just made everything all the worse. He hated crying. He had never cried before in this world, and now it felt like every other day. He hated it! It was vile, feeling so helpless, so utterly out of control. This body, Dudley's body, it felt too small. The people around him felt too small, except Harry. Harry felt like his world, and since when did that happen, for him to care so much for him? Had it crept up on him so slowly that he hadn't noticed?

And then there were these visions, or memories, or whatever the hell they were. They plagued his every waking hour. No matter how far he suppressed them with his work, they just came back, time and time again.

_It was so much easier when it was just me appearing out of the blue, an unsolvable happening, but-_ He thought in anguish. _Emily_!

Who was she? Why did she make his heart arch? Why did the thought of her rip a hole in his chest and make him smile? All she was to him were disjointed pictures of a time he didn't know. Why did she want him to run? Run from what? Why was everything so vague all…the…time?

_How dare they! How dare they! How dare they! _ _How dare they do this! _Dark shadowy pictures flickered over his vision, as blood streamed down his face and lights flashed under his skin. _How dare they force me away! _He could see the professors. _How dare they take it! How dare they! From me, it's mine! HOW DARE THEY! _

"Cowards! Fools!" he screamed, though it felt alien in his throat. "IT'S MINE! You really think you can do IT without ME? COWARDS! FOOLS!"

Everything seemed to stop, and then three things seemed to happen all at once; Snape's arm flew forward; Dumbledore and McGonagall roared in alarm; a jet of ink light shot out of the tips of Dudley's fingers; as Emily's warning thundered in Dudley's ears.

_NICKLAUS RUN!_

8

Dudley blinked. Silver-sparkles dazzled his eyes, a nauseous feeling swept over him, and then if felt like he was plunged into a lightless, endless abyss of water. The next thing he knew, he was choking on a shallow flow of bitterly cold water, his left cheek hard pressed on the stone cobbles. His left eye filled with liquid, and he snorted as icy liquid jetted up his nostril.

There was a moment of silence, as Dudley's brain caught up to what had just happened. He threw himself up and searched desperately for his wand. It was nowhere to be found. The anger took hold again, as he hurled himself out, and like a whirlwind he smashed his fists into anything they could find. He collapsed to his knees and flung his arms out to his sides.

"_AGAHHHHHHHHHHHHH"_ A single golden-red bubble suddenly erupted from him, as it expanded outwards in a rolling ring until it reached the end of corridor, filling it with steam as all the water evaporated at the bubble's lips.

Dudley muttered insanely as he storm through the corridors, a mad dash collection of babble pouring from his mouth. Later he would admit to himself that not even he would have comprehended what he was saying at that time, had he been listening to himself.

Whatever spell Snape had cast on him had caused Dudley to stumble through the hallways and corridors for what felt like hours. It had clouded both his thoughts and his coordination, as he literally _couldn't _tell the difference between his left and his right, or his up from his down. It was like being very, very drunk, yet being conscious of everything.

For instance, his emotions and his memories from Dumbledore's office seemed to stay as sharp as anything, but to think of them stung him relentlessly in his confusion. Yet any 'new' thoughts or ideas were…incapable of developing, or possibly able to hold onto. It was terrifying.

Eventually Dudley made it to Gryffindor tower. How he managed to, he would never know for certain, nor how he'd managed to evade both Filch and Miss Norris in the state he was in, or even how he got past the fat lady's painting.

He fell through the porthole and landed with an impressively loud thud on the wooden floor of the common room. Before he knew that he had hit the floor, seven figures sprang up around him, looking down at him.

"Is he drunk...again?"

"He looks drunk."

"Reckon they had a party, George?"

"Oh yeah, just imagine it."

"McGonagall with her hair down…"

Two figures taller than the others looked at each other. "Eww."

"Honestly!" A bushy haired figure pushed through the circle. "Don't everyone check he's alright at once."

"You sound like mum, Herman."

"And Ginny." Ron added, with the twins groaning in agreement.

"It's Hermione, as you know!" Hermione said sharply, before shaking her head and kneeling down beside Dudley.

"Oh no, she _is_ our sister." George leaned in.

"We'd never forget whats-her-names' name, would we, Fred?"

"No, I'm Fred?"

"Really? Then who am I?"

"Well, that's simple. You're-"

"Fred, George, shut up!" A pin could have dropped a mile away, and still would have sounded like a foghorn. Dudley sat up and put his head in his hands.

"Argh, my head feels like a sky scrapers fallen on it." He gritted his teeth, as he moved his hand across his face so he could feel the dried blood from his nose and eyes cracking. "Errr."

"Dud, what happened up there?"

"You look awful." Dean said, off-handily.

"Oh, cheers, Dean!" Dudley shot him a look that could have pinned the black boy to the wall. "Thanks for pointing that out! And there was me thinking I look fan-fricking-tastic!"

"Whoa, someone's got their nickers in a-"

Dudley didn't even have to begin to form a word to stop George in mid-sentence. If anything, the atmosphere did that for him. It seemed to say; Not In The Mood, in bold jagged letters.

A hand was shoved in front of Dudley's face. He looked at the small hand and followed it to its owner. Dudley' glare was met with penetrating green eyes peering at him. For a moment, he wanted to grab Harry's arm and pull it from its socket.

Dudley reached out and grasped Harry's arm. They stared at each other. A silent empty battle of wills passed between them, as Harry stood against him, determined and unmoveable. Dudley's rage fell weak against the small boy. Until, finally, he nodded and allowed Harry to pull him up (with the help of Ron and Seamus).

On his feet, Dudley could think more clearly. He was still angry, murderously so even, but now he had that little bit of lucidity, so as not to be consumed by it. It was a surprisingly painful thing, and in many ways he _envied_ the blinding rage that boiled in him only an instant before.

"I need…" Dudley spoke to Harry, but had yet to let go of his arm. "I need to be alone. I need some time to…figure something out."

Ron and Seamus looked over Harry's shoulder. "But-"

Hermione silenced them by placing a finger on her lips.

"Okay…if that's what you need." Harry bit his lip. "Dud?"

"Yeah?"

Harry stepped closer, as everyone else disbanded towards the dorms, and whispered. "If there's anything-"

"I know, Harry." Dudley forced a smile. "I know."

Harry followed all boys up to the dorms, they said their goodnights, and Fred and George tipped their imaginary hats. Hermione was the last to say goodnight, as she stood at the entrance to the girls' dorms, and reached deep into her pocket and threw a blue sweet to him.

"Fred and George gave it to me before what happened on Halloween. They said that if I took it, I'd be able to make some friends. They also said it would cheer me up…amongst other things." She scrunched up her nose and rolled her eyes. "I haven't dared, _ever,_ tried it. I was going to throw it away."

Dudley looked at the blue hard sweet from in-between his thumb and forefinger. "Why'd you keep it?"

"I don't know…I was so lonely, I guess it was a kind of a comfort." She looked down at her feet. "I'm not lonely anymore though."

Dudley frowned. "Why give it to me? I'm not lonely either. I have Harry."

Hermione just smiled, shrugged and disappeared into the girls' dorm.

He turned away, holding the sweet, and walked towards the fireplace. He held it up to the fire, so that it shone like a little round sapphire. A miserable feeling slunk over him, as he stared into the little jewel.

"Clever-girl," he whispered.

8

Dudley sat in front of the fireplace all night, bogged down with questions he rather wished he hadn't thought of. He was never one for philosophy or religion. In fact, he felt challenged by their very existence.

No, in Dudley's mind Philosophy was a lot like how he considered the law; it could be manipulated to mean anything and everything by the right and wrong people, and had no real purpose except for the benefit of the benefactors that peddled it. As for Religion, well that was simpler, as he just didn't like to be told what to do, but he was wise enough to understand that others did.

So under his own ethics and his own morals, he pulled his questions and problems apart, smashed them back together, in the hopes of forming an equally complex answer. But no matter how hard he tried, everything came back to and centred around one thing; Emily.

He mourned the loss of his wand; he was impossibly frustrated with decisions about him being taken out of his control; he was viciously and rightly angry at Snape for cursing him with what he was pretty sure was a Confundus charm of some sort; even more angry with Dumbledore and McGonagall doing nothing to stop Snape. He could predict that they would deny it if questioned, but obviously they did otherwise, as why else would they have still taken his wand. In fact, for all he knew, Dumbledore could have staged the whole thing.

Yet, Dudley was greatly overjoyed with having Harry back. All of which could have been fine…or rather, he could have gone along (kick and screaming) with. Moreover, in a perfect world, he would concoct a cunning plan that he Dudley (Dursley) Evans could resolve.

But then there was Emily.

He thought of her more and more, which was to say that he remembered more and more about her since he had woken up in the hospital wing (which granted wasn't much longer than a week ago, but time travelled differently in a child's body, more so when in a school).

When thinking of Emily, Dudley didn't feel like Dudley. It made him like nothing and no-one, because even though he had never met her, he could always remember the touch of her skin; soft and smooth like the summer sand, yet sexy and dark like a petals from black rose. He could remember her body blindfolded, every scar and imperfection, with only his hands perfectly. He could remember the scent of her; stargazer lily's which she grew in mass on the small balcony of her flat, because they reminded her of her mother who was a florist back in America, and because they were her inspiration for becoming a biologist.

"Perhaps they still are," he whispered to himself, gazing longingly somewhere beyond the fireplace. She was back in his own universe, she might even be looking for him…she probably thought he was dead, or worse.

He somehow knew that she'd know he'd never leave her on purpose. But how much could he trust himself to think that, as he barely knew anything about himself at all. It was mindboggling. Who was to know if he was the person he was, and would she even recognise him when he most certainly didn't recognise himself from his own memory?

Dudley rolled the blue sweet in his left hand, agitated by the complicated web weaving in his mind. The sweet felt heavier by the second. _An externalised conduit for my sorrows…_

He smiled ruefully at the blue gem that now rested in his palm. It didn't sound nearly as romantic when he thought about it like that. But that's what it was, and for Dudley, knowing that granted its own solace.

He picked at it delicately with his other hand and pressed it gently to his lips. _This is stupid, _he thought. _This is a Weasley sweet, so it can do anything! And it's old. I could give myself cholera! _

He doubted very much, as had Hermione, that it would do the things the twins had said it could. He also knew that deep down it would not solve anything if he ate it, the feelings he felt wouldn't disappear, and they would still be there in some capacity. It was totally illogical to put it in his mouth.

He winced, closed his eyes, and shoved the whole thing into his mouth in one go.

8

Nothing happened for ten seconds, then twenty, then thirty, and after ten minutes went by, Dudley started to relax. It must have been a dud, or the effects had worn-off.

"Hmm, well that's…disappointing." He uncrossed his legs, stood up and scratched his head. It might well have been just a normal Muggle sweet. Then the thought occurred to him. _Maybe it was a Muggle sweet…Could Hermione be that clever…even at her age?_

He held his chin, wondering. He shook his head, as it was a scary thought to have been out smarted, which briefly made him remember the choir hasting. It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea whether it was a prank by the twins or not.

Dudley pushed the question into his list of things he wanted to learn, and instead turned his mind on what to do now. He unconsciously reached for his wand, and caught himself just before he reached his belt. His anger flared again. He still couldn't believe that Snape actually cursed him.

"What a dick." Dudley gave a heavy sigh. Today was not a good day. He remembered the lights in the office and quickly shook his head.

After a while of standing on the spot, Dudley looked around the common room. He didn't really fancy going to the Room, and it probably wasn't the best idea considering what he'd just learned about his condition. Moreover he wasn't in the right mood to read or work on anything anyway.

He drummed his fingers on the big red sofa, as he walked to the centre of the common room. Standing there, looking towards the dorms, he picked his brow restlessly. "It'll be Saturday in a couple of hours."

Dudley turned his head towards the porthole. "I be back at the '…'" he frowned. "Oh yeah. I forgot about that. Well, I'll be back with my 'mum and dad'…bah!"

Then Dudley felt it (that little feeling at the back of your mind that already knew what you were about to do, even before your conscious mind had come up with it).

"I could die if I don't go. Don't know how long I'm gonna be there for, could be indefinitely-might never get the chance." He bit his lip; he could never forgive himself if he didn't. His eyes bounced around the room excitedly.

"Bugger." He licked his lips, and grinned. "I've got nothing to lose."

"I'll do it! I'll go for the stone." His head snapped back to the staircase leading to the boys' dorms. "I'll need a wand, though."

He quietly opened the door of the first year' accommodation. Unfortunately, everyone inside was still awake. All conversation stopped, as Dudley walked into the dorm.

Harry was the first to come over. "You feeling better, Dud?"

"Err…to be honest, nope." Dudley looked into Harry's eyes and shrugged. Harry would know that he was still upset and angry, so there was no point in lying. "But there's not much I can do at the moment. They took my wand, so it can't be helped."

"Oh," Harry pushed his glasses up his nose. "That's…lame."

Dudley looked at him. "…Lame?"

His voice seemed to go up two octaves as he spoke. "Since when do you say 'lame'? You loser."

Then they both started laughing. This seemed to be the queue for all the other boys to jump off their beds and bombard him with questions.

"They took your wand?" Neville said, dismayed

"Can they do that?" Dean asked.

"They can't do that! Can they?" Ron blurted.

Seamus rolled his eyes at Ron. "Obviously…"

Neville then pushed through everyone, so that he was standing right in front of Dudley, blushing furiously. "Gosh, I'm so sorry, Dudley. Th-this is all my fault. If I hadn't got Professor McGonagall-"

"It's not your fault, Neville." Seamus interrupted, pushing himself in front of Neville. "It's mine and Harry's." Harry crossed his arms at this, but chose not to say anything. Dudley gave him a wink over the Irish boy's head. "If we hadn't started the fight then-"

"Alright, that's enough grovelling. It's no-one's fault but Quirrell', _that,_" Dudley pointed at the Troll head, "Snape and my own." _And Pettigrew._

"Snape?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

Dudley sighed. "Snape was there, too. He confunded me. I lost a couple of minutes and they took my wand. I'm not hurt, I'm fine. I'm not sure they physically could hurt me… I'm really not sure." He added distantly. That was something else to add to the list, as he couldn't go back to the Dursley's and not do boxing.

"Snape…cursed you!" Neville wailed, almost trembling. It looked like Dudley had probably just tripled the boy's fear of the Potion's Master.

Harry put his hand on Dudley's shoulder. "But you're alright though, right?"

"Yeah, I already said I was fine, didn't I? Angry as hell, yeah. Will probably spend the rest of my suspension plotting revenge." Dudley reassured him with a smile, and Harry nodded his head and said. "Snape's a git."

Dudley laughed.

"Wait, hold on. You've been suspended, too?" Dean asked, wrinkling his nose. "Ain't that a bit extreme?"

Dudley looked at Dean the same way he looked at Harry earlier. "'_Isn't_ that a bit extreme'. Just because you're black, Dean, doesn't make you street. In fact, you're whiter than Seamus…and he's Irish."

There was a pause. And, like a bubble popping, they all burst into laughter. Dudley then spent the next hour explaining everything that had happened in Dumbledore's office, and about why he was being sent back to the Dursleys. Although he might have been a bit 'conservative' with some of the details… That is to say, he lied mostly about his little 'outburst'.

Ron, Seamus, Neville and Dean seem to take most of what he told them as gospel. Harry, however, gave him a 'yeah, right' look every now and then, as he told the story.

Then, and far past midnight, they all just talked, a great deal of which was about nonsense, things that boys, who had not yet discovered sex, talked about. For Dudley it was for the most part tedious and boring, rumours and stories heard around the castle that couldn't possibly be true.

So while Neville recanted a tale regarding Snape's parents as being part Vampire, which he had been told in confidence by Mulberry Howgla, a sixth year girl in Hufflepuff known for her…'teasing', Dudley pulled Dean into a corner and asked to borrow his wand.

"Does it haff't be mine? Can't you ask someone else like Seam's, or Harry?" Dean whined, tightly gripping his wand with both hands.

"I don't know how Seamus' wand would 'react', and Harry's wand is…let's just say it might be a tad bit too soon." Dean frowned at that, but Dudley held out his hand. "And you know Neville and Ron's wands wouldn't be able to handle even the simplest of spells. What I need is a reliable wand, from an even more reliable person. That's you, Dean."

Dean grumbled, looking down at his feet. Dudley gave him the best puppy-dog eyed look he could muster. "Arrrgh, man. Fine, but don't break it! My Dad will freak out if he has to buy me a new one."

"Thanks, Dean. I'll be sure to take good care of it." Dudley took hold of the wand, and almost had to wrestle it from the other boy's hands, before sliding it into the old holster on his belt.

As he turned around, he saw Harry narrowly staring at him from across the room. Dudley held up a hand at him and waved. Harry quickly pretended not to be looking, and asked Neville a question about his theory of Snape's parentage.

8

At around half-past one, as the guys decided it was getting late and wounded down, Dudley left the dorm room. An act the boys were somewhat used to, and didn't question, but Seamus and Dean smuggled a look at each other, confident they'd cracked the reason.

_Any other night they would probably be right, but not tonight._ Dudley smiled at the thought, as he pulled out the Marauders' map from his robes. He strode quietly down the spiral staircase leading to the common room, a scene he was long since bored of.

He unfolded the map on one of the oak tables, and pulled Dean's wand from his holster, drumming his fingers along the handle grip; it was heavier than his own and curved slightly towards the left.

He gave it a practise swing and swish. "Weird. Right, I solemnly swear I am up to no good.

The sound of a shoe on stone came from behind him. There was a pause, but Dudley didn't turn around, as instead he looked at the map. He smiled when he saw the name. "Harry, what are you doing?"

Harry huffed. "I could ask you what you're doing, Dudley. You just said you're not allowed to do magic."

"No." Dudley eyed the hallways, passages and staircases on the map. "I said that _they _said I shouldn't do magic. _I_ hold the opposing view."

Harry ran over and dragged him to face him. "You can't keep doing this! If Dumbledore said you shouldn't, then you shouldn't! You said it yourself that if you stay here-"

"Harry." Dudley took hold of Harry's wrists and gently pulled his hands off of his robes, and lightly pushed them back to Harry. "It's as simple as that. It's not like casting a spell is going to kill me, or staying here over the holiday would 'spell the end'."

Harry looked up at him sharply. Jets of steam could have been bursting from his ears. "You don't know that! You think you know these things, but you can't. You're not a hero, Dudley! You're not special! You're just a kid...like everyone else."

Dudley smiled an uneasy smile, not quite sure how to respond. "I may be a lot of things, Harry. But I am not 'like everyone else'."

Harry bared his teeth in frustration. "You're missing the point!"

"I died," Dudley cut Harry off, still smiling an uneasy smile. Harry looked up at him. "I know it sounds…redundant, because I'm still here. But I…*I* died."

"You've died before," Harry suddenly chipped in.

Dudley frowned. "What? When?"

"After you got hit by lightning. You died then." Harry's body took on a stiff frame. "I wished you did, then."

"I-I don't remember dying?" Dudley tried thinking back, but it was all very hectic. Everything was raw and new. It could have happened. It was possible.

"You were hit by lightning, Dudley. Brain damage. Remember that?" Harry crossed his arms.

"Yes, I _'Remember that'._" Dudley said sarcastically, badly imitating Harry's voice. "So I've been dead, what, three times."

"Two times." Harry corrected. "The lightning strike, and whatever You-Know-Who did to you at Halloween."

"No, I died twice on Halloween." Dudley counted on his fingers. "The lightning strike, the troll, Voldemort."

Harry cringed at the name, before looking at his cousin, mind boggled. "Wait - _The Troll_ killed you? I didn't know that. Then how did you manage to get to the hall?"

"I got better… Actually, Voldemort might have not killed me at all. It might have just been the Troll, twice, because I hadn't fully recovered from my injuries. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's what Pomfrey said, or along those lines."

The conversation had taken such a funny turn that now neither of them had the words to move it forward. The two boys just looked at each other, both lost in their privet musings; Harry's mind drowning him in a wave of unanswered questions, whilst Dudley's brain tried to assimilate this new-old bit of information into somewhere in the growing archive of his mind.

"I'm going after the Philosopher' stone, if you want to come?" Dudley said, looking back to the map.

"That–" Harry hesitated. "You're going to go no matter what, aren't you?" It wasn't really a question, just an acceptance of a fact.

"Really?" Dudley almost dropped the map in surprise, while Harry nodded and pulled out his wand from his pocket.

Harry paused at the exit of the porthole, and looked back at Dudley from the other end. "You're sure you're not going to die again, if you cast another spell?"

"Of course." Dudley claimed into the porthole. "Well…no-one can ever truly know these things-"

"Oh shut-up!" Harry sighed.


	18. A Duo

Thank to my beta Storyseeker, and everyone one whose reading :)

**A Due**

The two boys tiptoed in the dark, as Dudley brandished Dean's wand, and unfolded the map. The map had said the next room was empty, but it never hurt to be too cautious. He peered around the corner.

Harry put his hand on his bicep. "Dudley?"

"Shhh."

"Dudley, why are we-"

"Shhh."

"But why-"

Dudley swung round. "Merlin sake! Harry, be quiet."

They couldn't see each other's faces, as they had just walked behind the giant shield of a statue of a wizard battlemaster called Louis Valente, who fought in the second goblin wars. This was one of the darkest parts of the castle, 'The Lost Aisle'.

The Lost Aisle was a kind of crawl space between the supporting wall for the arches that made up the ceiling of the seventh to third floor corridors, and the outside wall. This part of the castle was completely black, as it went around the whole castle, and there were no windows.

It was, however, lettered with hidden passages leading to the outside wall and the castle's arrow loops (the thin narrow windows seen on the outside of castle) that were used for throwing spells safely at approaching forces from the east, during the first goblin war. Dudley loved 'Hogwarts, A History'.

Harry squeezed Dudley's arm, and whispered. "Can we talk now?"

"Hold on, not yet. Filch is on the other side of this wall." He pushed Harry's hand against the left sidewall, and then pulled his arm to place it on the right sidewall. "Look for a push stone. If you find it, don't press it until I say…and be quiet."

He reached out, searching the right wall as he carried on. He knew there was a push stone here, somewhere, that should open a passage to take them to the staircase that made up the outside wall. They could then walk straight down to the third floor, ending about five meters from the entrance to Fluffy's chamber.

Harry didn't say anything, but Dudley sensed him nodding in the darkness, and heard his fingers on the stones. They walked on through the deep and dark crawlspace. Dudley had to duck down, as the path narrowed in a slight descent. Harry was lucky; he could walk upright with no problem.

"Dudley?"

Dudley gritted his teeth and rolled his eyes.

"Dudley, I think I found it."

"Wait, Harry, don't!"

Just then, the wall Dudley was resting against began to grumble. The black space in front of them lowered into the floor, revealing a hidden stairway behind the wall, brightening into patterns of thin strips of moonlight, from the arrow loop windows.

As the silvery light of the moon pulled the curtain of darkness back, Dudley's scowl was slowly reviled. He was not happy. "What part of 'don't press it, unit I say' didn't you understand?"

Harry opened his mouth, but hesitated to answer, and then looked at his shoes sheepishly. "What does it matter now?"

"What does it matter?" Dudley hissed, pointed down at the moonlit stairway. "You don't know what could have been on the other side." He stuck his head out and looked up and down the staircase. "You were lucky. Next time, let me check the map first."

"Why? It wouldn't tell you who was on the other side anyway, would it."

Dudley's eyes widened, as he realised he hadn't told Harry about the map. He'd completely forgotten.

Harry looked at Dudley, and then slowly frowned. "What is it by the way?"

"Err, it's a magic map," was all he said, walking quickly and quietly down the staircase. When he was a safe distance, he added, "It was your fathers."

Dudley could have counted to five, before Harry came bombarding down the stairs, skipping two or three steps at a time, and almost falling over him. "What?"

He didn't stop walking. "It, err, took me a while to figure it out. But then-" _But then what? _Dudley thought. What excuse could be useful, which would make sense and be believable?

"I saw a file, when doing detention." He could have snapped his fingers in glee. "I was s'possed to be filing, but then I saw something. It, err, turns out your dad was in a bit of a… Well, he was in a gang…of sorts. They made the map."

"A gang?" Dudley couldn't see Harry's expression, and at the velocity they were at now, travelling down the stairs, pausing for any reason could very well prove fatal. (It was partly this reason that no one used this particular way of moving around the castle, as one trip could leave you very injured)

"What sort of gang?" Harry asked, starting to sound out of breath.

"I-I don't know, they bullied a few people or something."

"Bullied? You mean pranked?"

"I don't really s-see the diff-differences." Dudley huffed. It was getting harder and harder to speak and move his legs at the same time. "And no, they def-definitely bullied people."

"That can't...that can't be...be tr-tru..." He could feel Harry losing balance behind him, and his heart jolted.

"Harry! Br-breath. I don't –don't w-want t-to f-fall!"

"Dudley! I-I can't stop!"

"N-neither can I!" Dudley pulled out Dean's wand.

"Circulus-Silencio!" A pink ring out-spaded around them, but the wand shook furiously in his hand. Dudley barely noticed, the fear of falling more present in his mind. He adjusted his grip and pointed the wand in front of him. "Buffue!"

"Ahhhhhh!" they screamed together, as they both half-sprinted, half-fell, all the way down the stairway. They hit the back of the painting at the bottom with such force that they would have gone straight through it, had Dudley's spell not hit it first. Instead, they were bounced backwards, narrowly missing being crushed by each other…or rather Harry narrowly being crushed by Dudley.

The pink ring dissipated with the collision, the limit of sound absorption breached.

"I-I feel like I'm gonna be sick." Harry gasped loudly. "We are never doing that ever again!"

Dudley looked pointedly up at Harry, and placed a finger on his lips. "Shhh!"

Harry, still gasping, rolled his eyes. Using the stairs to steady himself as he stood up, Harry walked pass his cousin and opened the porthole. He stopped before going through it, and turned, waiting for Dudley.

Dudley was sitting on one of the narrow steps, holding Dean's wand and looking at it intently. Had he imagined it?_ Did it move? _he thought with a casual sense of worry. He didn't want to break it, or worse, lose control of it during the task ahead.

He stood up, holding it protectively by his side. He wasn't going to give up before even beginning. Besides, Harry was holding the door open for him, and there was no sign of him saying that he was about to stop. If anything, the near death experience seemed to make Harry look ready for more. Dudley smiled at him, as he passed.

"Come on," he whispered, as he stepped into a large moonbeam on the dimly lit third floor corridor. Harry paused and stared at him, this time with a look Dudley didn't quite recognise.

Harry frowned and shook his head, pulling out his own wand. Dudley put his fingers to his lips, as they both walked on towards the door leading to Fluffy's chamber.

8

They stood in a small alcove outside the chamber. Harry tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to his own mouth. Dudley raised a confused eyebrow, and then realised what Harry meant.

Dudley cast a small silence spell around them. This time, there was no mistaking it, as Dean's wand shook angrily in his hand.

"How are we going to get pass the dog?" Harry whispered.

Dudley looked up at Harry with disbelief. "Beggars belief! All this time I've been telling you to be quiet, and now 'when we are under a charm that nullifies sound'. _Now_ you whisper?" He shook his head at the irony, until Harry hit him.

"Right, Fluffy. It falls asleep when it hears music." Dudley scratched his ear. "I'll use the orchestra charm to… You know on Halloween, the choir thing? Was that a prank?"

Harry looked lost for a second. "The choir...Oh, where you have to sing on your own in front of everyone?"

"Yeah, that." Dudley nodded. "Was that supposed to be a prank?"

Harry shrugged. "Not that I know of. You'd be better off asking Fred or George… Why?"

He shrugged back. "I just remembered it, and was wondering was all. Okay, so, yeah. I'll put Fluffy to sleep with the charm, and when he's asleep we'll make a run for the hatch-"

"What hatch?" Harry asked plainly.

"The hatch that he's guarding-" It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't even seen Fluffy in the flesh before, as he naturally hadn't had the time to check it out. He didn't even know where the hatch was stationed in the chamber, other than it was in the floor…presumably.

"Didn't you and Ron see-"

"We were more concerned over the giant three-headed dog and teeth to be honest, Dud." Harry shot back.

"Okay, never mind. There's a hatch in the room. Find it and drop through it. There's a plant on the other side. If you struggle, it will kill you, so you have to relax, and then you'll be fine."

"Oh well, that's good to know," Harry gulped.

"Then there's a chamber of keys." Dudley closed his eyes, trying to remember, as he counted them on his fingers. "Chess, potions… No, chess, troll…"

"Troll?"

Dudley opened his eyes. "Shit! I killed the troll, didn't I. Okay, okay, whatever it is we'll handle it." Harry didn't look too sure. "Potions, mirror. Escape. Are you ready?"

Harry nodded blankly and turned to the door. His hand stopped before reaching the brass handle. He turned back to Dudley, his face slowly hardening with suspicion. "Dud, why are we going after the Stone now? How do you know all this stuff?" And then, accusingly, "How'd you _really _know that stuff about my parents?"

Dudley opened his mouth, grasping for something to say. When no answer came to mind, he promptly snapped it shut and grabbed the brass knob of the door, and powered through into the room, his wand-arm aggressively pyramided.

"Nothing is ever simple with you, is it," he muttered, as he passed the threshold.

Harry stormed forward, slamming the door behind him, as he confronted Dudley head on. "Yeah, because that's who I am!" Harry poked Dudley in the chest. "Who are you?"

Dudley's free hand swept out, as he threw Harry on the ground and jumped for his life. Out of the pitch darkness, three colossus sets of razor-sharp teeth exploded out from behind, where Harry and Dudley were standing only milliseconds before.

The deep growling made Dudley's whole body rumble, and the barking of the dogs made it almost impossible to hear anything other than the blood pumping in his ears. The three heads split apart, as two of them went for where Harry had landed, and who was staring up, frozen in panic, while the other one jetted across, trying to catch Dudley as he rolled out of his jump.

Dudley sprang out of the landing roll, wrong footed. The resulting trip and stumble most likely saved his life, as the jaws of the Cerberus sprang forward, snapping at his heels. As he tripped, Dudley threw a stunner from under his arm towards Harry's direction.

A beam of red light dazzled the room, hitting the dog's middle head directly in its left eye, resulting in the centre heads yelping and recoiling, forcing the beast back. The near miss of teeth and bright light shocked Harry back to life, as he spun rolled, jumped and ran as the left head tried attacking.

Dudley, on the other hand, had landed badly, jarring his right arm, which, combined with the vibration of Dean's wand, caused it to fall out of his hand, and roll towards the three-headed beast.

A baby blue light flew out from Harry's direction on the other side of the room. Dudley vaguely recognised the spell as the jelly legs jinx. His eyebrows knitted together in a 'what the' expression before he swung himself forwards after the rogue wand.

He lunged across the smooth stone floor, and his fingertips slipped under the wand as he turned out of his dive, only to be faced with howls from the middle and left heads. Dudley jumped, as his body was bombarded with adrenaline. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry was charging hysterically towards him, as teeth chased him from behind, limbs and robes flying everywhere as he ran.

Dudley's arm shot upward, his right hand narrowly touching the base of the wand. His fingers stretched as far as they could reach. "_ORCHUNSTRA!"_

A shimmering bubble enveloped the tip of the wand, bursting upwards and exploding with sound, bashing the two dog's heads up, and thrusting Dudley backwards across the floor. He undercut Harry's legs, tobogganing as the sound waves sent them both hurtling underneath the monstrous thing, straight for the hatch. Harry saw it first, and flung his wand out.

The effect was instant, as the dog looked dizzy for a second before it basically collapsed. Just as Harry and Dudley plummeted into the dark abyss, music played on from up above. They landed on a mass of cold, syrupy and entangled veins.

For a long time, the two looked at each other, breathing heavily and sweating profoundly. Then, unable to control themselves, perhaps because of nerves or maybe because of the tension, they grinned from ear to ear, singing alongside the no-man orchestra above: -

"~Mud, mud!~

~Glorious mud!~  
~Nothing quite like it for cooling the blood~

~So follow me, follow~

~Down to the hollow~

~Where we will wallow~

~In glorious muuuuuuud!~"

They both burst into giggles and laughter. Unfortunately, however, all their giggling had awoken the Devil's Snare below. Veins slunk and sunk around them.

"Dudley?" Harry yelled, somewhat distressed.

Dudley could only make out the outline of Harry's figure, struggling against the curling tendril of the black ivy creeper. "Hold still! Don't move a muscle!"

Harry suddenly went perfectly still, and for a frightful second Dudley thought something awful had happened to him. To his relief, though, Harry's body sunk through the weed like a stone down a well. He secretly smiled, as Harry fell through the malicious Momordica to the floor with a 'thump' and groan.

"You okay, Harry?" he yelled.

"Err, yeah, I think so." Dudley could hear the sound of rustling, as Harry did the body check of arms, legs, glasses and wand.

"How come _you_ haven't come through yet?" Harry yelled back.

Dudley looked around, using only his eyes. He had no idea why he wasn't sinking. Dean's wand had fallen out of his grip again, during the tumble through he hatch, and now was (with grating irritancy) just within touching distance of the nail-tip of his index finger.

He counted for a minute in his head, as he accepted that, for whatever reason, he wasn't going down. "Okay, Plan B. Harry, it looks like I'm not going to come through this thing on my own. I need you to cast a fire charm from your end."

"Okay, wait a while and I-" Dudley could feel the penny drop. "Actually, I think you should answer my question first. The truth this time, and nothing but!"

"Reeeally, Harry. You want to do this now?"

"Yes, Dudley, my dear cousin. I might never get the chance again. Question one, shall we?" Dudley could have felt Harry's smug grin from the Dursleys'. "That stuff you said about my dad. Is it true?"

Dudley groaned with annoyance. Oh, why couldn't the stupid plant do what it was supposed to do and swallow him up? _In fact!_ "If you're so interested in what your parents were like, why don't you get off your skinny arse and do some research. It shouldn't be my job!"

He had caught Harry on that one, as he could hear him about to say something, but whatever it was came out as a half thought feeble mumble, along the lines of 'but it would be so much easier if you would just tell me'.

Harry sniffed and, not dignifying the defeat, asked his next question. "Why are you going after the stone?"

Oddly, this question made Dudley feel a little…stumped. There were, of course, plenty of answers he could give as to 'why', but it was more complicated than that…yet it was simply 'because'.

"It's because…because I can. Not really any other reason than that."

"Yeah, and I bet immortality and a never ending supply of gold doesn't have anything to do with it either." Harry paused, suddenly pleased with himself. "Wait, that's it, isn't it? You're going after the stone because you think it might heal your magic thing, aren't you?"

"Errr…" he replied. He hadn't thought about that possibility. Well, not in real terms at least. Although, admittedly, Dudley did have some under-lingering hopes that the Stone might be able to cure his condition.

There was something else as well, though. Something to do with what Crow had said to Petunia when she'd asked Crow whether Dudley could be 'fixed': _'Fix it? It's his magic, there's nothing to fix.' _

He frowned, as his eyebrows and forehead kept knitting together, almost as if they were sowing a pattern with his thoughts. _That was it, wasn't it? That was it, exactly._

"I don't…I don't think the Stone can heal me, Harry." The Devil Snare crept over his stomach, as he felt the vibrations of his breathing. "The thing that's wrong with me isn't…isn't a disease."

"Then why are we going after the stone? For the gold? What is it, Dudley?"

He pictured Harry swinging his arms about in frustration like a deranged ape, just like he used to do when he got in trouble for fidgeting back in primary school, when it was Portkiss poking him in the back, trying to get Harry into trouble.

(Dudley had put a stop to that by sticking a mousetrap up the back of Harry's shirt one day during assembly. Sound of that trigger going off and echoing around the hall still brought satisfied smirks to their faces. Portkiss still couldn't bend his all the way.)

"We don't need the gold, Harry. I know I moan about never having any of that, but I'd rather earn it." Dudley paused. "We're going after it because…"

"Because what?" Harry yelled back.

"_Because_, Harry! Because we can! And why the hell not?"

The Devil Snare reached around him, as Dudley pushed back against it, shouting back, annoyed that Harry was leaving him on a plateau that wanted to squeeze the life out of him.

"You know what! You are just so…GRRR! So bloody…I can't even think of a WORD to describe the utter…AGRH!" Harry stomped about so loudly that the sound of his shoes hitting the cobbles could be felt through the Snare. "You don't take anything seriously. This is all just some game to you."

"That's not true. I work hard for…"

"No! No, you are not pulling that 'I work for everything' thing."

"But I do, Harry. All that what happened up there, was that_ all_ luck? No, it would have gone smoother if you hadn't lost your head. But it was planning and skill!"

"5 seconds of planning, Dudley!"

"That 5 seconds is all we need! I'm going tomorrow and might never ever be able to get the chance to do this! Might not ever be able to come back!" Dudley threw himself up, irritation and frustration blinding him. He had had enough!

He made a grab for Dean's wand, but the Devils Snare was faster and stronger than he thought, as it pinned him down, painfully knocking the air out of his lungs and heavily tensing his chest.

"_Harry,"_ he whizzed desperately, his vision burring. "_Help…"_

The next thing Dudley knew, he was diving down. He managed to glimpse the floor before he hit it. He gasped for air, pain shuddering through his body, as the bruises instantly healed. Harry had to help pull him up, but the second he was on his feet Dudley grabbed the front of his robe and held his fist up to his face.

"That hurt, Harry! If you _ever _do that to me again..." Dudley, with little effort, deadpanned his voice. "This-Fist-Is-The-Last-Thing-You-See. Got-it!"

Harry stared at him with a 'deer in the headlights' look, before he nodded his head rapidly. His glasses fell off his nose as he did, which seemed to have crumbled at some point during everything that had happened, as the right lens was cracked and the bridge was bent.

Dudley let him go and gently picked up Dean's wand, pointing it at Harry. "_Oculus Reparo. _Let's move on, shall we?"

Harry flinched, and then looked away. There was a melt pot of expressions twittering on his face, as he followed Dudley (who was not at all impressed with what had just transpired) into the next room.

Dudley couldn't help but feel irritated and a little bit humiliated by the whole episode. It was like what had happened in Dumbledore's office, which kept playing in the back of his mind. He was starting to feel that allowing Harry to tag along was a bad idea.

That thought, however, evaporated the second his eyes landed on the broom hovering in the middle of the third chamber. There was an atmosphere of revengeful-retribution radiating from him. Particularly with the wicked smirk growing on his lips, as he whirled on his heels to face Harry, clapping his hands together and rubbing them menacingly as he did.

A look of dread swept over Harry. "What is it?"

"You-" Dudley continued to grin, as he grandly revealed the broom, like a magician's assistant. "-Harry, my boy, have to ride that-" He pointed his finger to the ceiling where hundreds of keys fluttered about, like a horde of butterflies. "-Catch one of them. Throw it to me, so that I can unlock that door, and-" He swung around, holding his wrist and pretending to shoot the door, before bringing his finger to his lips and blowing on it. "-Boom goes the dynamite."

"That's doesn't sound too difficult…" Harry trailed off, looking at him with hopeful and questioning eyes.

Dudley smirked back. He walked towards the door, assessing the lock and then the key above, as Harry stationed himself uneasily on the broom. Dudley pointed to a large rusty key, flapping happily among a shoal of brass and silver keys.

"That one."

Harry was off like a rocket, and Dudley couldn't help but admit that it was impressive. Harry soared towards the intended key and snatched it out of the air. The effect was so sudden that it almost took Dudley by surprise. The fluttering of the winged key became a furious whizzing buzz, comparable to an enraged swarm of mechanical hornets.

Harry spun, freefell, jetted and back curled. He was so animated that Dudley was finding it hard to keep up. Sometimes, Harry was little more than a blurring streak, as he tried to rid himself of the encroaching and deadly assault of keys.

"Harry, throw me the bloody key already!" Dudley yelled, cupping his hands, and hoping he could hear him through the insistently loud buzzing.

Harry suddenly blasted forward, towards the far wall, and at the last second changed direction. The result was a crashing sound of a hundred keys, which gritted harshly on Dudley's ears, but he had no time to cover them, as Harry tossed the rusty key directly downwards, as his broom grazed from the wall.

Dudley caught the key (barely) before it managed to correct itself back into flight. The rest of the keys, and those that had recovered from the wall collision, were angrier than ever, and in hot pursuit. They were pinning with vehemence, as they blasted on.

The key fought tooth and nail, refusing to be put in the lock. With a surge of urgency, as Harry screamed in pain somewhere overhead, Dudley slammed the key into the lock and forced the door open.

"HARRY!"

Harry cartwheeled the broom whilst having to shield his eyes. Dudley saw it first, but only by a millisecond. Harry was cornered. The only way through was to ram through a small squadron of keys below, and drop off the broom to make a run for the open door.

Harry saw it, too, as he flew, dived and dropped from the broom, but the keys ignored the discarded broom completely, and headed straight for Harry as he landed. Dean's wand seemed to appear in Dudley's hand, as he grabbed it so fast.

"_Ropusmortus!"_ This time the wand didn't shake, and didn't even vibrate.

A snake-like rope sprang out of Dean's wand, ensnaring Harry and reeled him in so fast that it lifted him off the ground and sent him flying into Dudley, throwing them both into the next chamber, the door smashing shut behind them.

Dudley looked down at the hysterically panting, ribbon cut and dizzy looking Harry, and said, "Okay?"

Harry looked at him, only able to growl in response before jumping up and being sick in the corner.

8

"That's it, that's it, get it all out," Dudley said, while standing as far back as he could, rubbing Harry's back with one hand, and casting a minor healing spell with the other.

"Shut up, Dud," Harry said without malice, pushed him away. He looked at the little light shining out the tip of Dean's wand. "That feels nice…it's warm."

"Should do, it's powered by my warm and fuzzy feelings for you." Dudley scanned up and down Harry's body with the wand.

"Awww, isn't that sweet." Harry pushed up against him.

"Knock it off." Dudley gave him a shove, vanishing the nausea away and turning the healing light back on Harry, who closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

"I'm not just joking. To cast spells and use magic effectively, you need to understand what powers them"

"Uh-huh. Can you do my back, I think those little ones got me." Harry rolled up the back of his robe, where there were nine long scratches across his back.

Dudley moved the light over them. _Pomfrey told me when she taught me this spell that I'd be able to feel magic responding to mine_. _She was right. _It was like some sort of combination between a magnetic field and the feeling of running an open hand through a tank or warm water.

"The 5 Tenets of Wizardry; Emotion, willpower, imagination and desire. Know them, and know them well." Dudley turned his hand over the wand, focusing the light over the scratches.

"Good magic, like _most_ types of healing, requires positive emotions, complete resolve over your intention, the ability to imagine the body restored, and the desire to see someone good and well."

"That's four." Harry opened his eyes, and glanced sidewise. "What's the fifth?"

"That's personal." Dudley smiled knowingly. He cancelled the spell, tucked Dean's wand into his holster and patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, time for chess."

"Great," sighed Harry, letting go of his robes so that they fell to his ankles, and then for no apparent reason he tagged Dudley on the back of his arm and raced passed, towards the chess board.

Dudley was chasing him before he even realised what he was doing. He couldn't help but chuckle, as it always seemed that Harry often chose a very inconvenient time to act childish. _Well, not childish for his age, I suppose_.

It was funny, in a way, as moments ago the two were just about ready to strangle each other, and now…the complete opposite. It was like a coin swung back and forth, between adoring and detesting one another. Perhaps it was to do with hormones, but who could truly say.

He caught him around the middle, and spun Harry around. Harry laughed and squirmed, as Dudley lowered him so that his feet stood solidly on the ground. Even so, he managed to fall over, chuckling as Dudley helped him up.

"Whoa," Harry said, looking behind him. Dudley followed his gaze all the way around, and the room suddenly erupted into light. He was looking at the chessboard; he gave Harry a look of agreement and a flash of seriousness.

On its artistic merits alone, the marble chess set was more than remarkable; it was blatantly obvious to Dudley that someone of prodigious skill had taken a great deal of time, and a greater deal of care into its creation.

"There's no way McGonagall transfigured_ this_," Dudley whispered to himself in wonder. He stepped up to the board and examined each piece, Harry close behind him.

The detail was so prolific in each individual figurine, so much more than had been described in the books or in the films. It took conscious thought for Dudley to remind himself that these weren't real people. The pawns were simply breathtaking. A black pawn on the far side caught his eye in particular.

It had two figures pressed lovingly on a loose marble chain hanging from its neck, holding a ring matching identically to one on its raised embracing hand. The emotional expression of loss and anger on its face was all too _real_ for Dudley to look at, and yet he couldn't tear his eyes away either.

The other 'wow' factor (the one Dudley suspected Harry was referring to) was the imposing size of the board and the figurines. Enchantments and charms had clearly been used to expand the room to fit the board and enlarge the pieces.

"Dudley," Harry asked quietly, as if afraid the figurines were sleeping and speaking would wake them. "Shouldn't we…?"

"Yeah, right. Hmm, you be the king, Harry." Dudley looked over the chessboard, this time for tactical appraisal. He needed to be high up so that he could see the whole area, which left only one option. "I'll be the knight."

The King got out of his chair and walked off the board with a sense of aristocratic flare. The Knight, in one swift smooth motion, swung his legs off his steed, with countenance duty, and took a defensive position beside him.

Harry took his position as King on the head marble throne, as Dudley climbed aboard the great black steed.

"Dudley, is this going to be like wizard's chess?" Harry said, looking perturbed by the black queen who had turned to look at him in bad taste.

"Yep," he said without hesitation.

"Goody," muttered Harry.

Just then, a white pawn in front of the white king moved two paces forward. The game had begun.

8

They were in trouble from the onset, as Dudley had made a foolish move with his knight that allowed the white queen to dominate the centre of the board.

"We should have brought Ron," Harry mumbled, shifting uncomfortably on the black throne, for what seemed like the umpteenth time.

Finally, Dudley snapped. "Yeah, well, I could rather do without the constant wining!"

"Merlin sake! What do you have against him?" Harry snapped back. "He's never done anything bad to you."

"He's a slacking mooch, a totally idiotic fool, and is dragging you down!"

"He's not a mooch!" Harry gripped the arms of the throne, as if to hold himself down.

"Fine," Dudley snickered. "He's a slacking idiotic fool dragging you down, then."

"That's not what I meant!"

"Maybe," Dudley shrugged, "maybe not."

"Don't say that," Harry said, gritting his teeth. "He's my friend, my best friend. He's funny…noble, and he doesn't care that I'm…"

"That you're what? Famous!" Dudley laughed, looking over his shoulder. Harry looked away from him. "Oh, don't be like that. Come on. You really think he doesn't care? You're the only thing he has over his brothers."

"Wha-what's that supposed to mean?" Harry glanced Dudley's way, frowning.

"Oh please, you know exactly what I mean. You aren't blind, Harry." Dudley sneered. _That's not how I raised you, _he thought secretly. "He seems a good friend, and I'm sure he is, and I like him. Under different circumstances, I'd probably like him more even, but let's face it. You're a trophy to him."

"That's not true!" Harry stood up on the throne. "Your right, I'm not blind, and it's bloody clear that you're just jealous that I have more friends than you!"

"Well, evidently." Dudley rolled his eyes back to the board. All the chess pieces suddenly moved to attention, but it was obvious they had been listening to him and Harry arguing.

"What does that even mean?" Harry bellowed from behind. Dudley had a way of winding Harry up more so than Draco Malfoy ever could. The same could also be said for Harry's gift to wind up Dudley.

"It means…" Dudley didn't turn round, and instructed the black queen to take the white castle with his finger. "I am well aware of my feelings towards Ron relationship with you."

"So you're admitting it then. You're jealous." Harry smirked in victory, and then lost seconds after, as if he'd just been stung by it. "You don't have to be jealous, Dud. I mean you're my best friend, too, but I need-"

Dudley groaned inwardly and stopped listening, as this was getting too distracting. White moved its Bishop to line up with Dudley's queen.

He stiffened as his eyes peered across the board…there was an opening. A _major _opening against the white, a checkmate in three moves opening. It was too perfect, his first thought was, and then thought that it was some sort of trap, but if it was, he couldn't see how.

_What a mistake?_ How could… And then he realised. With Harry yattering on about friendship in the background, the pieces didn't know where to look. _The perfect distraction_.

"And so is Hermione, and you and Seamus and Dean are getting along as well. Just look; Dean let you borrow his wand. That must mean that-"

"Check, check and checkmate." Dudley crossed his arms with ample smugness and self-satiation that could rival Mr Crow, and the white King bowed his head. "Harry, you can stop talking now. We won."

"-friends… Wait, what? We won? When?" Harry looked around, confused.

"When you were talking about-" Dudley jumped off the horse. He stood on his toes and made a famine pose, held his hands together and pressed them into his chest, batting his eyelashes. "-lovey-dovey friendships."

Harry (for the first time that Dudley could ever remember) made a rude gesture at him that Dudley wasn't sure Harry fully understood the meaning of.

He laughed out loud and winked. "Damn right, Harry. Damn right."

Harry laughed as well, although not quite sure why.

8

They were both feeling a little bit drunk on success, as they boldly strolled into the next chamber, wands in hand and at the ready. Which was why they felt pretty putout when it was revealed that the next chamber was a seemingly empty room.

"Check the ceiling for spiders," Dudley whispered, moving Harry so that they were back to back.

"Spiders?" Harry asked quizzically, half-looking at him, yet managing to keep one eye on the ceiling.

"You don't wanna know what Hagrid's been up to in the forest. Trust me." Dudley held Dean's slightly upwards, ready to fling a quick stunner if need.

Harry didn't ask, and instead he adopted Dudley's stance and watched the ceiling, as they silently stepped back to back into the room. The door to the chess chamber closed ominously behind them, seemingly by a shadow. The second the door closed, they were swallowed in pitch-black darkness, completely blind…and they were not alone.

The little hairs on the back of Dudley' neck rose up, sweat rolling down his face, his heart hammering in his chest as though threatening to explode, and there was a distinct feeling of something very, very close, nose to nose, breathing on his ear.

Harry was just about to cast a spell to brighten the room so that they could see whatever it was, but Dudley held his wrist tightly and silently told him not to. There was something telling him that light was a bad idea.

They somehow managed to get to the other side of the room without incident, which was far creepier and more nerve racking than actually facing whatever the creature in the dark was. Dudley turned so that Harry was facing the door.

Harry opened it and they quickly jumbled through, slamming the door shut. However, it immediately burst into flames as it closed, the force throwing Harry backwards. Dudley only just managed to cast the cushioning charm in time to block the impact.

"What the hell was that?" Harry shrieked out in anger, as he collapsed against the wall. He saw the first doorway, now roaring with purple fire, and the door leading to the Stone roaring with black flames. He looked to Dudley and shook his head. "I don't think I can take much more of this, Dud. My heart-"

Dudley took a deep breath through the nose. "We're okay… In fact, we're barely bruised…considering."

Harry looked down at his now shredded and smouldering clothes; he did not look like he shared his cousin's opinion. Dudley thought it was probably a good thing Harry couldn't see his eyebrows (or lack of) at that moment.

He walked over to the small table with the potions on it. "This is the easy bit anyway."

He read the riddle and passed it to Harry, who couldn't make heads or tails of it, nor did he want to. Dudley couldn't really remember which was the right veil from the book, as it was too much of a precise detail to recall. Luckily, the riddle wasn't all that difficult; although it might have helped that he had a bit of a thing for all things 'puzzling'.

He picked up a smallish veil, popped the cork and sniffed it. An ashy, spice-like smell teased his nostrils. He then reached over and picked up a larger veil, and did the same, this one smelling in a damp and oddly watermelon-ie like smell.

"We drink half and half. This one first." Dudley drank from the small veil before handing it to Harry, and placed the other veil on the floor. "And that one later."

Harry eyed the little bottle. "You sure?"

"Yes, absolutely." He grinned, as if Harry had told a funny joke.

"You know, it's _really _annoying when you do that." Harry closed his eyes grimly, and downed the rest of the potion.

"Do what?" He frowned questioningly.

Harry shrugged. "Be so absolutely certain, that the idea of being wrong is a joke. Makes everyone feel stupid."

"Everyone?" He grinned, and stopped in front of the black fire, looking back at Harry, wiggling his eyebrows mockingly.

"Or just you." He then slipped through the black flames fearlessly before Harry could think of a retort.

8

As Dudley pushed through the flames, he couldn't help but think, _What if the Stone wasn't there? What if the Mirror wasn't there? What would have been the point of this…a little excise? Possibly my last day at Hogwarts, wasted?_

He came out through the fire, the impenetrable sense of dread from before leering over him, before turning and waiting for Harry. Yet, as he saw Harry with his arms reaching out, eyes closed (and with no eyebrows) stepping out of the fire, Dudley couldn't help but feel that this was the perfect way to spend his last night in the castle.

Harry opened his eyes and sighed with relief. His eyes landed on Dudley, a look of concern flickering in them. "You okay, Dud?"

"Huh, me? Yeah, I'm fine." He turned away, pretending to examine the room. There wasn't much to see. It was an empty circular room, held up by thirty or so pillars with a flat ceiling, and a raised platform in the centre. On the platform…

"A Mirror?" Harry stepped forward so that he was standing directly beside Dudley's right. "What's it do?"

"Shows you what you want most." Dudley glanced sideways. _This means that Dumbledore moved the Mirror into the castle_. He raised an eyebrow. _So he did want Harry to find it, then?_ He scratched his head. "This is too easy."

"What do you mean?" Harry held his chin, looking at the mirror, and then snapped his fingers. "It's probably cursed. Ron told me once about this rug thing that was actually quicksand-"

"Hungarian quicksand," Dudley said absently. "I'm not thinking about the mirror. I know what the mirror does."

"Oh…what does it do? No, actually tell me what you're thinking first."

"I'm thinking…" Dudley said slowly, "…that this is too…well, easy. Although, I suppose if you take into account the whole getting into the castle…then no, not even then. But yeah, this is too easy."

"So…wait, does that mean…" Harry scrunched up his face, trying to work out what Dudley was saying. "Are you saying that the Stone isn't, or might not even be here?"

"It's hard to say." Dudley started walking toward the mirror, and Harry followed. "Let's say…I wouldn't be surprised. Dumbledore might simply have it in his pocket."

"That's just great then," Harry exclaimed, dropping his arms by his sides in a shallow show of disappointment. He never wanted the Stone, and Dudley doubted he cared any further than the amount of sleep he'd lost. "So we've totally wasted our time then, haven't we, if you're right."

"_If_ I'm right," Dudley agreed, as they both stood in front of the Mirror.

There were more than moments of hesitation before Dudley stared into the silver glass. He could lie to himself and say that it was because he was admiring the intricate gold dragons moulded on its grand frame, but he knew the inescapable truth, and it blossomed through every time. It was because he knew what he'd see there, and the thought of it on its own was so painful it could bring him to his knees. He was deathly afraid, terrified, of what the visual might do to the little bit of sanity he had left.

Dudley fixed his eyes on the glass.

But there was no reflection, as he waited nervously for something to form. But nothing did. He stared harder. His lips shook, and he mouthed 'why'. Then something slowly started to appear in the glass, a hand reaching-

"Dud!"

"FUHA!" Dudley jumped out of his skin, and he fell to the ground, glaring daggers at Harry. "Harry! How many times! Don't do that!"

"Sorry, I-I didn't mean too," Harry apologised, trying not to giggle, and failing.

Dudley breathed and rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand. He rubbed his eyes, and smiled. Harry held out his hand, and he grabbed it, pulling himself up.

"I just thought you might like this." Then, with his other hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a medium-sized, and a rather dull looking, red stone.

Dudley's eyes were like saucers.

"That's it?" he scoffed so loudly that it echoed around the room. "How'd you even…when?"

"Just now, obviously," said Harry, rolling his eyes. "While you were all zombie eyed."

Dudley took the stone from his hand and turned it over. Harry smiled at him, looking pleased and…something else.

Dudley looked up from the Stone, and Harry was looking longingly toward the mirror. "What do you see, Harry?"

"Us, Mum and Dad. I know it's them, Dudley, I know it is!" Harry stared back into the mirror, and he stopped. "Dudley, I think we're brothers!"

Dudley choked on his tongue and almost dropped the stone. Then his mind caught up. "No, Harry, no. The mirror doesn't show-"

"I know what it sounds like, but look. Just look!" Harry pulled Dudley beside him and pointed into the Mirror, which was still to Dudley a blank sheet of silver. "That's us as babies, look. They had to hide us so they gave you to the '...' and erased their memories then-"

Dudley looked down at Harry's face. He was happy, excited, and guessing from the rapid movements of his eyes, he was seeing quite a show from the Mirror. His expression suddenly changed.

"But-but that can't be? You'd have to be in two places at once."

Dudley grabbed Harry and dragged him away from the Mirror. "Harry, stop! It's not real!"

Harry then hit him across the face, and Dudley, enraged, easily picked him off his feet and threw him over his shoulder. Together, with the Stone in one hand, and bent over with Harry over him, he ploughed through the black fire, Harry kicking and biting him all the way.

"Harry!" Dudley held him against the wall in the other room, but Harry seemed to suddenly remember he was a wizard and reached for his wand.

"I said STOP!"

[SMACK!]

Dudley slapped him, and Harry's jaw dropped with a look of disorientation and bewilderment.

Dudley's hand whipped back to his face, as he stepped back in horror. "I'm so sorry!"

But Harry threw his arms around him, and cried, "Sorry. Sorry."

Dudley put his hand on the back of Harry's head and let out a shaky breath, "Bad mirror."

"Bad Mirror," Harry agreed, pushing himself off Dudley's chest.

"Let me heal…that." Dudley took Dean's wand out of his holster. As he finished, Harry smiled and then started laughing.

"What?"

Harry burst into laughter "We-we got the Stone."

Dudley paused. Then he started to smile, grin and then finally burst into laughter as well. "We got the Stone!"


	19. Any Other World

**A/N: Long time no see people! Uni has been crazy busy, but I hope some of you have managed to stay with me :) Enjoy**

**Any Other World**

Dudley and Harry were remarkably surprised at how easy it was to get back to the Gryffindor common room. They had both been expecting another 'test', or a trap to spring, as they made their way back through the gauntlet, yet there had been nothing.

The only real problems were: walking through the Black Room; fighting their way through the keys; then having to go back into the room with the keys to grab the broom so that they could get back up to Fluffy's chamber, and then, of course, sneaking past a sleeping dog from Hell. None of which had been particularly difficult, and, in a way, was kind of disappointing (not that either of them were craving any more excitement).

However, lying heavy in both their minds was the unmentionable incident of the Last Room, and what had transpired because of the mirror. Both were left with conflicting and somewhat confusing feelings, which neither knew how to response to. So, as they stood opposite each other in the common room, they awkwardly went forward to hug, but bailed out at the last moment. Unsure of what to do, yet knowing they had to do something, they chose to shake hands instead.

Dudley waved Harry goodnight, and waited for him to be out of sight before letting his face drop, and give a tremendous sigh. He had no words, a complete lack of vocabulary for the way he was feeling. There were a million words in the English dictionary, but even if he knew them all, none could consulate his state of mind.

"First world problems," he mumbled to himself, as he walked over to an armchair someone had moved so that it sat looking opposite the sofa.

With one hand, he grasped the top of the chair and spun it around so that it faced the fireplace, while with the other he pulled out the Philosopher Stone from his breast pocket. As he fell back into the soft confines of the armchair, he brought the Stone into his other hand and let it rest in his palm, absentmindedly feeling the weight of it. Immortality and all the money in the world rested in his hand.

He held the Philosopher Stone up between his thumb and forefinger. Although it looked dull and rusty, the crystalline qualities of it made the reflected light shimmer like a crimson disco ball on the palm of his hand. He lowered it towards the fireplace, his eyes widening as the flames intensified the tiny pillars of light. It seemed, as he looked through a clear side of the Stone, as if the flames were captured within the heart of it. As the scar on Dudley's hand began to tingle, he knew that there was some sort of magic locked deep within the rock. He pondered briefly. _Should I keep it? Or destroy it?_

Suddenly, images of Golem, from The Lord and The Rings, cradling the ring and muttering 'My Precious, My Precious' popped into his mind. Briefly a smile twitched on his lips, but before he could begin to laugh, his face sunk. Slowly and precisely, he stood up and dropped the Stone back into his breast pocket, and then silently left the common room. As he crawled through the porthole, he never once noticed the small boy peering around the edge of the staircase.

8

It took roughly ten minutes for Dudley to find the gargoyle concealing the headmaster' office. He'd debated with himself the whole way, and now, as he stared into the eyes of the gargoyle, and felt the Stone in his pocket, he still couldn't decide whether the Stone was the _true _Philosopher Stone or not. But he _knew_ it had some sort of magic, and he desperately wanted to study it.

The idea of magical gems tantalized his mind with seemingly endless possibilities. However, that was just the problem…there was simply too much, and he had admitted to himself before, while holding the Stone and knowing the power he could wield if he cracked the formula. It was all playing twists and roundabouts with his mental stability. The image of Golem wouldn't shake from his mind, as he feared that was what he would become…smarter and more powerful, but equally as insane.

Straightening his back and squaring his shoulders, he stepped forward.

"I need to see Dumbledore. I don't know the password."

The gargoyle stared blankly back at him with its grey orbed eyes; it slowly nodded its head and moved to reveal the staircase. Dudley nodded, and thanked it as he walked past. His mind was still riddled with discourses, as he grasped the brass handle of the door. But he had resigned himself, now.

_It's too late to change my mind_, he told himself, as he let out one last breath, both to compose himself and to harden his Occlumency shields, before turning the handle.

The office was empty, and only a few candles were lit, giving the room a subdued homely feel. He walked further into the office, running his gaze over all the cluttered instruments and sleeping portraits. His eyes suddenly darted forward, locking onto a large fracture above the portrait of Phyllida Spore, who was scowling at him beneath half-eclipsed eyelids. The memory of Snape, McGonagall and Dumbledore stealing his wand whirled around his mind.

His hand instantly found Dean's wand. The tension was clear, as he unclenched his fist from it. He took a step backwards and turned around, cautiously making his way to the staircase that lead to the second level of the office, pausing as he met the Sorting Hat.

It was sitting on an oak-wood carved, faceless head on the third shelf. It turned to look at him, making him freeze. It caught him off guard, fearful for some reason he couldn't quite pin.

"Well…" the hat grumbled. "What is it?"

Dudley took a step closer. "You-you know who I am?"

"Hmm," that Sorting Hat opened its mouth, relaxing its leathery jaw before continuing. "Yes…the young boy with the old mind. One does not forget someone as…unique, so easily." It grinned. "Not that _I_ can forget anything."

Dudley frowned. "You said you couldn't read my mind."

The Hat turned on its rest, staring at him curiously from the dark fold of leather where its eyes should be. "Hmm, I believe I said I didn't have to."

Dudley paused, his eyes glaring with indecisive anxiety, as he leaned in.

"Could you?"

The Sorting Hat regarded him for a long second, before it beaconed him forward, by bending the tip of its head. Dudley gently lifted the Hat off its rest, and placed it on his head. Immediately, a floating feeling brushed over his mind, as the hat fell past his eyes. Moments later, he could hear the Hat whispering from somewhere deep inside his head, not in words, but in pictures, feelings, and what felt like memories. They seemed to spiral about him in a silvery miasma.

Suddenly, and without warning, Dudley was plunged into darkness before it erupting into red light and fire. He yanked the Hat off, and threw it towards the shelf. The Hat, somehow, managed to float directly onto its rest, staring long and hard at him.

"You're lost."

Sweat rolled down the side of Dudley's cheek. "W-what?"

"Ah, Mr Evans!"

Dudley gasped, jumping at Dumbledore's voice. He turned around, looking the old man up and down, to see whether he could tell if he had seen or heard what had just happened.

"My apologies for making you wait. I thought it would be more appropriate to have this discussion without wearing woolly slippers."

Dumbledore chucked, gesturing to his desk. "I assume you've brought the Philosopher's Stone with you?"

Dudley nodded.

"Very good."

Dumbledore moved towards the desk and sat down opposite it, gesturing again to the chair across it. _He's patronising me_, Dudley thought, briefly narrowing his eyes. He then reached into his pocket, and dropped the Stone on the desk, gracelessly sitting in the offered chair.

Dumbledore fluttered his gaze over the Stone, smiled and then entwined his fingers over his beard. "I have to admit, at first I was rather surprised that you went after the Stone tonight…" He tilted his head to the side, trying to catch Dudley's eye. "I suppose you did because you think you have nothing you lose, yes?"

Dudley looked up from the Stone, crossing his arms. "I did it because I could."

"Because…" Dumbledore held up a finger, and then used it to push up his spectacles. "…You had nothing to lose. I also suppose you blame me for that."

He turned away, fixing his leer towards the ceiling of old headmasters and mistresses. "You took my wand from me; you're kicking me out of school."

"-And covering up the lie you conceived."

Dudley turned back to the Professor. "What?"

Dumbledore ran his left hand through his silvery grey beard. "Have you forgotten the tale concerning Mr Malfoy?"

"Oh."

"Yes." Dumbledore lent forward and gently plucked the Stone from the desk.

"I don't know quite how to work with you, Dudley. At first, I planned to leave you to your own devices. But letting you roam free… Well, let's just say it didn't work. But now I see that pushing you only serves to make things more dangerous, for everyone."

"I'm sorry." Dudley shook his head. "What?"

Dumbledore placed the Stone in the middle of the desk, and when he looked up from it, he had a serious glint his eyes.

"I'm not sure what you are, Dudley. And I'm struggling to tell whose side you are on-"

"I'm on Harry's side!" he interrupted, gripping the handles of the chair.

Dumbledore slowly reached up past his beard, and took hold of his chin, whilst leaning back into his chair.

"Perhaps I should explain how I am seeing it… You knew about the artefacts hidden within Malfoy Manor, correct? And so, you manufactured the story about the Troll attack to incriminate him?"

Dudley knew these weren't questions. He had always known Dumbledore knew he was lying about Malfoy, as he all but practically told him in the hospital wing when he made up the thing, so there was no point in lying now.

"Basically, yeah."

"So - how?" The headmaster's eyes gleamed. "How did you know Dudley?"

"I told you. Or rather, you tricked Harry into telling you." Dudley crossed his legs and moved his hands onto his knee. "I have visions."

"Yes…your_visions_." Dumbledore took his hat off, and dropped it on the side of the desk. "But you see, Dudley…even the greatest Seers never claim to 'see' anything quite as…specific, as you seem able to."

"If you've got a better explanation, I'm all ears."

Dumbledore's brow dropped. "Very well."

He reached forward, picked up a sherbet lemon from a glass bowl, almost knocking over a vase holding a rose, and three silver coiled glass objects, before popping the yellow sweet into his mouth.

"From what Mr Crow has explained to me, it appears as if your magic is intertwined more physically with your body than most. Thus, you are able to produce magic; that is, bringing more into the world than this world is giving you, so to speak." He looked into Dudley's eyes, as if searching for some kind of…recognition.

Dudley frowned back, but nodded, if only in confirmation. Then, very slowly, carefully even, Dumbledore continued.

"Dudley, I must make it _very _clear to you that I do not believe Mr Crow's diagnosis. Neither do I believe that you do."

Dumbledore stared at him then, the intensity of his sharp blue eyes so strong that Dudley found himself holding his breath. He could feel was his heart thumbing inside his chest, fear and anxiety prickling his skin with what felt like a thousand Fire Ants crawling over him.

"For something to be perpetuated in such a way that it creates more of itself without consequence violates the fundaments of nature and magic."

Dudley smiled uneasily, as he rubbed the sweat off his brow, slicking back to his long blonde hair. "I didn't think that magic obeyed the rules, Professor."

"Oh my boy, if that is what you think then it may surprise you that magic is largely thought by many wizards and witches to be the embodiment of nature."

Dumbledore chuckled, clasped his hands gently and returning to a more sombre expression.

"Which, rather nicely, links to my theory on the true nature of your condition - this 'excess' magic that you are producing isn't being created, not by you, but is being channelled from somewhere…else."

Dudley's ears peaked, as blood rushed to his head.

"You see, Dudley, I've have seen it before."

Dumbledore's brow broke, and his eyes twinkled over his glasses, and with some hesitation, as he smiled warmly once again. "I presume you know of the Dark Lord Grindelwald? And the War?"

Dudley nodded, leaning forward and forcing his full focus onto what the headmaster was saying.

"Well, when Grindelwald was first beginning to take power, he employed many different…methods_,_ in an attempt to increase the power of his army."

Dumbledore paused, as a distant look glazed his eyes. It was a look Dudley knew all too well. It was probably safe to assume that whatever Dumbledore was recounting in his mind was not pleasant.

"Hismen managed to find something-"

Dudley swallowed, the back of his throat feeling very dry, as Dumbledore voice took on a deeper solemn tone.

"-It housed a very powerful, and a very old piece of magic, stronger than anything than I've ever seen. Alas, one of the researchers attempted to use it to fuel his own _ambitions_ by taking it into himself. It took many men from both sides to stop him, before he was completely obliterated by its power."

"Wait, what? You think I'm going to be obliterated?"

"No, no, no." Dumbledore waved his hand dismissively. Then he reached out and took the Stone from the desk once more, holding it towards the light.

"_If_ I am right, I believe that your magic, alongside your visions, are coming from somewhere else."

Dudley moved so that he was on the edge of his seat. "Where? Why?"

"I don't know, Dudley. But I'm sure everything will be revealed eventually, as these things often do." Dumbledore grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

"Great." Dudley sighed.

"In the meantime," Dumbledore picked up the red stone and handed it to Dudley. "I want you to have this."

"You're giving me the Stone?"

"As I'm sure you've worked out, _this _Stone is not what it appears to be. But one of its properties is to absorb and store magic by having it about your person. Hopefully, it will aid you in your recovery."

Dudley closed his hand around the crimson Stone, and while looking away from it, he asked, "How did you know I'd take it?"

Dumbledore stood up, and smiled, pushing his spectacles up his crooked nose.

"I think it is probably time that we both get some sleep, Mr Evans. Besides, tomorrow is going to be a rather busy day."

8

Dudley had made his way to Gryffindor tower and into bed, feeling as empty and unfulfilled as he had been before sneaking to get the Stone in the first place. He had questions, he had answers, but in essence all he felt was the crappy feeling of not being in control.

He turned on his side, and watched the outline of Harry sleeping, whilst listening to the compound stereo snoring of the other boys. As he held the Stone in his right hand, he slipped it into the cold space under his pillow, and then pushed his face into his pillow as hard as he could, and squeezed his eyes shut.

"What am I going to do?"

8

The next day, Dudley got up much later than he usually did. Harry and the others weren't there, so he assumed that they had probably gone for breakfast already.

He lumbered himself out of bed, but as he was about to stand up he remembered the whole embargo with the Stone the night before. Naturally, as the memory hit him, Dudley threw the pillows off the bed to find the Stone…mostly just to have some proof that it hadn't all been some crazy dream because, quite frankly, it was getting rather hard to tell just what was real and what was not. However, as pillows were flung high into the air and across the room, the Stone blinked into existence and stared at Dudley like an empty dull eye.

Dudley wasn't sure what to wear, seeing as today was the day that he was being forced back 'home' with the Dursleys'. He first decided to put on his Muggle clothes on, so that he wouldn't have to change on the train, but as soon as he pulled up his jeans he realised that he hadn't worn any of his Muggle clothes he brought with him for months. None of them fit him anymore, as they were all too big and baggy around the waist, and too short in length.

Judging from the way they swung about him, as he put them on, he guessed that he must have lost at least 6 stone, and grown up about three inches since he had started school. So, instead, he threw on his robes and decided to meet the other First Years in the hall, assuming of course that they were there.

He walked through the common room, down the staircases to the doors of the Great Hall, in much the same mood he fallen asleep in, which was heavy. The feeling mopped around his mind, and was so annoying that it made everything seem less wonderful. In fact, for the first time he arrived at Hogwarts, Dudley felt overwhelmingly under-whelmed by the everyday magic of the castle. However, he didn't want the others to see him so…melancholic, not on the last day of term at least, and definitely not right before Christmas.

Plus, he rather doubted Harry's ability to keeping the night time adventure with the Stone a secret from, at the very least, Ron and Hermione, so he had to look victorious for that sake alone.

Sure enough, as he neared the Hall, he could hear the excited whispers and muttering from within. He braced himself for the awkward silence that was sure to follow as soon as he set foot in there. He slowly opened the great door, and tried to slide in unnoticed.

He sighed mildly in relief, as no one had seen him yet. _Now I just have to find Harry and-what's that noise? _

Dudley just managed to make eye contact with Harry and the other First Years sitting at Gryffindor table before: -

#In any other world#

Every head in the Hall twisted at neck-breaking speed, as music erupted from Dudley's mouth.

#You could tell the difference

And let it all unfurl

Into broken remnants#

Then, like a puppet on a string, Dudley found himself uncontrollably walking forwards, the candles dimming with every step. He sang the whole way to Dumbledore's podium.

#I tried to live alone

But lonely is so lonely, alone

So human as I am

I had to give up my defences#

Dudley was mortified beyond belief; yet all he could do was look into what seemed like a thousand faces. He grasped the podium, as music continued to vibrate from his body like a tuning fork.

#Cos it's all in the hands of a bitter, bitter man

Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in

Take a bow, play the part of a lonely, lonely heart

Say goodbye to the world you thought you lived in

To the world you thought you lived in#

All their eyes burned into him.

#In any other world

You could tell the difference#

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, it was over. And everyone just stared, in dead silence.

"Oh well done, Mr Evans!" Flitwick squeaked. "I knew you could do it. WELCOME TO THE CHOIR!"

A collective realisation rolled over the crowd, and an explosion of applause thundered throughout the Hall, along with the odd laymen review of what 'counts' as good and bad music. But for Dudley the world narrowed, as his eyes widened. _The Blue sweet! It had to be!_

Dudley's eyes then caught the twins with a striking glare that it would have torn flesh. A deep ferial growl escaped between his teeth, and he jumped down from the podium.

"Weasleys!"

Luckily for them, as Dudley came down, crowds surrounded him to congratulate him, and by the time he could move freely again, Harry, Hermione, Ron, Seamus and Dean had managed to push through the crowds of excited and over-stimulated students. Harry managed to catch him by the elbow, just as he began swinging at one of the twins. Harry, Dean and the twins all latched onto him, and began dragging him out of the hall. As they left, four Fifth Years, out of sheer excitement, threw firework charms and more songs into the air.

8

"Pandemonium!"

Hermione shouted in dismay, looking back at the now closed and smoking doors. "Have they no common sense?"

Ron and Seamus glanced back at the doors with a sense of longing, whilst also rolling their eyes at Hermione. The small group all piled into the first bathroom they came across. Dudley had his head straight in the toilet bowl, throwing up a thick sparkling blue liquid, as (from a distance) Harry caringly rubbed his back.

"Yep," Fred said, looking over from the next stall, and casting his wand in circles overhead. "Definitely one of ours. Surprised it worked, really." He looked over to George, who was standing in the stall opposite.

"Yeah, that proximity charm seemed a bit dodgy," George then added quickly. "But it wasn't us, Dud."

"We swear!" they said together, crossing their hearts with their fingers. Not that Dudley could see, what with his head still in the toilet, glaring at the blue syrup that now lined the insides of the bowl.

Harry looked up at them, frowning. "Then how-"

"How did Big Daddy here-" The twin's reached over the stalls and patted Dudley on the back of the head, only to have Harry slap their hands away. "-manage to get hold of it?"

"No idea, we only made a couple," Fred said, shrugging. "Gave them away to the helplessly boring children of the school."

The twins suddenly looked at each other, and turned and stared at Hermione. She frowned back at them, at first in confusion. All eyes turned to her, a giant question mark floating in the air.

"Oh." Hermione's hands suddenly shot to her face, in a look of disbelief. "Wait, no, but-"

The twins nodded, and shared a look, as they slowly began to smirk. Hermione swiftly moved over and put her hand on Dudley's shoulder. "It was the sweet, Dudley. Oh my gosh, Dudley, I am so sorry."

"I gathered! BURRRRP!" Dudley snapped, before even more glittery blue goo exploded out of his mouth. "I don't get it! Why? Why? I don't even like - BURRP!"

"What's going on?" Ron whispered to Seamus and Dean. "Is it a Muggle thing?"

The boys both shook their heads, and shrugged. Dudley groaned so loudly that it came out as another growl, and he dropped his head against the rim of the toilet, shuddering slightly as he spat reminiscences of the goo out of his mouth.

"Eww. Err." Harry moved closer and rubbed his back. He turned to look at the group, wincing apologetically. "It would probably be best if you guys, err, sort of-"

"Hearing you loud and clear, sonny," Fred and George said, jumping off the toilet bowl. They took Ron, Seamus and Dean by the arms of their cloaks, and pulled them out of the bathroom.

Hermione took her hand off Dudley's shoulder. "I'm so sorry, Dudley. I didn't mean for any of this." She glanced at Harry, who shrugged. "I'll-I'll see you on the train." She then gently touched his back again, and then swiftly left.

8

Harry stayed with Dudley until the vomiting stopped. They then sat by the sinks, as Dudley washed his now glittering electric-blue mouth, but no matter how much water he gargled, the taste of blueberries and bubble-gum wouldn't go away.

"Evans, are you in here?"

Just then, Percy barged his way into the bathroom. "Ah-ha, you're in for it now. Do you know many-"

"Piss off, Per-!" Harry and Dudley began, but Percy just smirked.

"Language," McGonagall stepped in behind Percy, with a look of mild amusement. "Mr Potter. Mr Evans."

"Hello, professor," Harry and Dudley grumbled together.

Harry stood up, while Dudley stayed sitting on the sink. The heaving had weakened him, and the whole experience in the Hall had left him feeling dejected within.

Harry was stealing curious glances at him, as McGonagall waffled on about what she called his 'stunt', and how he should have told the staff what he was planning, and something to do about standing on the tables and setting bad examples. Or worse, setting challenges for other peers, aka the twins. However, she 'waffled' with her tongue, very much, in cheek. That is, it was more than obvious that none of the staff were particularly bothered; it was the end of term after all, so chaos was expected.

So Dudley frowned, pretending to look thoughtful, whilst thinking, _I need to collect my things from the Room._

His minded clouded over immediately with thoughts of the types of research he could do whilst shackled with the Dursleys'. So much so, he forgot what was happening around him, and snapped his fingers, interrupting whatever point or punishment McGonagall was in the process of making, and left the bathroom, muttering under his breath. "Bags, I'm going to need bags." And he leaped into a run.

Harry and Percy, both in shock, turned to McGonagall, expecting something terrible and marvellous to occur. They were sadly disappointed, because after much internal debate, she simply rolled her eyes and left the bathroom.

Harry then turned to Percy and sniggered.

Percy snarled.

8

Dudley huddled in a large fur-coat on the Hogwarts platform, along with the majority of the school, waiting for the train. He sat on two man-sized suitcases, borrowed from the Room of Requirement. Both were made up of some type of reptilian skin, although it was greatly hidden under centuries of dirt. Torn skin hung off tarnished silver facings, and several deep, dark-resin caked slashes on the bellies of the trunks. But they did the job in carrying his things.

Dean and Seamus sat on either side of him, on the perspective cases. Seamus's case looked like something left over from the evacuees, a family antique perhaps. Dean's suitcase was far more modern, with a light brown canvas that was obviously new.

As Dudley looked around the station, he noticed three strange things. Firstly, none of the suitcases had wheels. It was more odd than strange he had to admit, but still it was a curious realisation, as he had long since forgotten the time when suitcases didn't have wheels. Secondly, all the suitcases that he could see and make eye of were made of natural materials. Thirdly, was that Draco Malfoy was also on the platform, but without a suitcase, and he looked…out of sorts with himself.

As Dudley craned his neck to get a good look at him, two people dropped down on free spaces next to him. Without looking away, Dudley greeted them.

"Fred, George."

The twins nodded. "Dudley."

Seamus and Dean shared little smirks over the boys' exchange. Fred fished out a brown paper bag, and placed it gently in Dudley's lap. He had a good idea of what it probably contained, and could barely contain the furious stirring of his mind telling him to throttle the both of them.

Instead, he narrowed his eyes on Draco, asking himself why the First Year didn't have any bags, as well as questioning his memory of the books, trying to decide whether Draco did or did not stay at Hogwarts during the Christmas holidays.

"We thought you might like something to eat on the train…" said George.

"And seeing as you enjoyed the last ones we made…" followed by Fred.

"We thought you might like some more…"

"This time…"

"They're fresh."

"You're gonna to be nothin' but flesh if you carry this on!" Dudley stood up and turned around; the twins swivelled around to face him, but stayed sitting. He then threw the bag back at them. "So knock it off!"

George caught it, and smirked with his brother.

Dudley gestured towards Draco with his head. "What's up with him?"

The twins, Seamus and Dean looked over.

"Don't all look at once!" Dudley hissed, looking away.

"He's staying here. That's what."

"Aye, he's going nowhere is he. Got nowhere to go." Seamus shrugged, and the others nodded in agreement.

Dudley's brain sputtered. "What?"

"Ah, no, Dudley, you won't know." Seamus turned to Dean. "Wasn't in the common room, was he?"

"Oh yeah." Dean nodded his head, and looked to the twins, who also nodded.

Dudley raised a thin blonde eyebrow. "What have I missed?"

Seamus and Dean looked to the twins, who answered.

"Well, according to dad, since technically the Malfoys are linked to the Gringotts break-in now-"

"-And because Goblins are vengeful little blighters-"

George nudged Dudley in the ribs with his elbow.

"The Malfoys' accounts and property have now been frozen."

The twins grinned quite nastily. "In other words, they're bankrupt."

"What? The goblins can't do that, surely." Dudley frowned in disgust. He threw his mind back to the manuals on dealing with Gringotts' laws and conditions that he'd used to develop the contacts he was hoping to use to acquire the Black estate from Harry. He snapped his fingers. "Of course, the Malfoys are an old family, so they could go way back before the Goblin wars?"

Dean and Seamus shrugged over their shoulders, and Hermione could be seen carting a large trunk towards them.

"If you believe all that pureblood nonsense he's always on about," Fred said.

"Then yes. At least that's what the Goblins are claiming. Malfoy probably forgot Gringotts' contacts are global, and last until oblivion," finished George, smirking.

"So, they were still signed onto the original treaty from back then." Dudley looked to Fred and George.

"That's what Bill said to dad, when dad wrote him," said George again, as he rocked back and forth on his feet.

"They deserve it, too. Evil lot," Fred added, as he spat onto the rail line. He then nodded over to the approaching Hermione. "Anyway, we've got to be off, lads. Don't wanna get in trouble for seeing our friends off now, do we. Have a great break, guys. Dud."

The twins saluted to everyone, but as he was leaving, George shook Dudley's hand and pulled him close so that he could whisper in his ear without anyone else hearing.

"Dud, Dad says you've got to stay safe until the trial, since you're the only witness. So…you know, stay safe and that, and don't do anything stupid, yeah?"

Dudley had never heard George so serious before, which was why he didn't ask what 'trial' he was talking about. Instead, he released his hand and pushed him back, smiled and patted him on the arm.

"Yeah, I will, bud. You, too."

George broke away, forcing a hearty laugh, maybe in an attempt to hide his worry. "Like that's gonna happen!"

Dean, Seamus and Hermione waved the twins goodbye. Dudley shook his head absently, his attention focusing on tracking Draco in the crowd, but it was useless; he'd lost him. He switched his thoughts to reflect on this new information.

The 1278 Goblin War was largely known for being the second greatest event in magical history, which saw both wizards and goblins being forced to virtual extinction in Europe and west. However, it was known that wizards had the long-term advantage of Muggle-born births, thus the chance to run and regroup by hiding in Muggle populations. Whereas, the goblins could not, but they had greater forces that could, had the action been taken, devastated the flagging wizard resistance.

As a result, a stalemate treaty was formed by the Goblin Kings and the Old Wizard families, which gave _true _ownership of all their properties and money to the Goblins, in exchange for peace. The unwritten rule in this treaty was that the Goblins could never use the power of ownership over wizards. The first time this rule was broken, the Ministry of Magic attempted to take control of the bank in the 1860s, but under the threat of another war, power was returned to the Goblins five years later.

_But a loophole in the unwritten rule must be that if a wizard stole from the bank, _Dudley concluded, _then the ownership could be seized. Scary. What trial was George talking about?_

Just then, Dudley's trail of thought was cut off by Hermione's voice. "Dudley, I'm so sorry about the sweet. I swear I didn't think you would eat it."

"It-it's alright, Hermione. It's not the strangest thing to happen to me this week." _That's for sure, _he thought to himself, as he squeezed the Stone in his pocket.

Hermione then straightened up, looked around, and pushed Mr Crow's goggles into his gut, looking like she were sliding him drugs.

"Dudley, I thought you might like these back."

Dudley fought to contain a laugh, at the thought of Hermione selling drugs, and put the goggles in his pocket. Hermione frowned at him, and looked at him weirdly.

"Dudley, what's so funny-"

"Oh look, the train's here," he interrupted.

The Hogwarts Express chugged into the station, its bright red engine shining proudly in the sun. A sinking feeling pulled his stomach to the ground. In a couple of hours he'd be back with the Dursleys, without magic. He shuddered.

"She is a beauty."

"Harry?" Dudley spun around. "What are you doing here?"

Harry was grinning from ear to ear, as he leaned nonchalantly back on a battered and very familiar trunk. Dudley's eyes knocked about his inner circle, as Seamus, Dean and Hermione were all grinning as well, like they were up to something.

"You didn't think I'd leave you alone on Christmas, did ya?"

**(A/N) If anyone reading has the time, I suggest you check out the song: "Mika's - Any Other World", just for clarification and ambiance. Plus, its kind of a good song :P.**


	20. Muggles

**Sorry for the long wait guy. Life haha its a crazy thing. Enjoy X**

**Muggles**

Dudley sat in a full and very noisy compartment of the Hogwarts express with his head lightly resting against the rumbling cold surface of the window. Harry, Hermione, and a still red-faced Neville, who had to jump from the platform, due to Trevor (who was now sitting in a crumbled box on Neville's lap), were all happily seated across from Dudley, and having a rather energetic conversation with Seamus and Dean. Which, quite frankly, Dudley couldn't give two Knuts about: Quidditch, house points, exams, gossip, rumours and anything of the like.

All Dudley wanted to do was read his books and rest, and, Merlin forgive him, maybe get some work done. Instead, he was subjected to an asinine discussion of pre-teens.

He turned his forehead onto the window and sighed heavily, wishing that he could just push himself through the glass. _If I had my wand, I probably could._

Harry tapped his knee. "You alright?"

The compartment went into silence.

Dudley sighed, his eyes resting on the dark cloudy mist settling on the horizon. The city of London arose from the smoke in the distance. With his head rested on the window, Dudley licked his lips, and glanced fleetingly into Harry's deep emerald eyes.

"Not long now."

Trevor crocked.

8

The motley crew of first year Gryffindors arrived at Kings Cross Station a little after nine. From the window of their compartment, they could see into Platform 9 ¾, and what a sight it was, too.

The platform was filled with hundreds of adults and children alike, in parades of brightly coloured robes, alongside awestruck Muggles in tightly zipped up coats. The pillars that lead up to the arches, from which hung mistletoe, were all ensnared with large sparkling garlands that were entwined with silver and gold chime bells, and even the clock was decorated in holly. The bells would sing a pure note of a Christmas song every time a pair of blue and white enchanted pixies danced the waltz across them. And the ceiling was, of course, enchanted to snow.

"Oh, it's beautiful." Hermione gasped.

Dudley rolled his eyes, and moved out of his seat so that all the boys could see. They all held looks of joy and wonder in their eyes as they looked around the platform. Dudley smiled sadly as he, unnoticed, slide out of the compartment.

He walked the narrow hallways of the train toward the luggage compartment. He tapped on the shoulder of a passing seventh year Hufflepuff girl and politely asked her to cast a temporary shrinking charm on his trunks, which he then dropped into his pocket. The charm would last at least seven hours, which was more than enough time to get them to the Dursleys'.

He turned, and was chest to face with Harry, who was looking rather concerned.

"What is it?" he asked, pulling Harry into an alcove, away from the chaotic beginnings of parents missing children.

"There are _a lot_ of people out there," Harry whispered, pointing with his thumb to outside the train.

"Well, yeah, there's gonna be ain't there?"

"No," Harry whined, shaking his head in frustration. "People with cameras. Hermione thinks they want a speech or something."

Dudley frowned. "What about the '…', I mean mum and dad. Are they out there?"

"I didn't see them…but all the people were smashed up against the windows, and the lights were flashing and-and-" Harry made progressively extravagated gestures, as he spoke, attracting a few odd looks from the third year Ravenclaws passing by.

"Okay, Harry, I get it," said Dudley, catching Harry's hands before their blind thrusts hit a rather grumpy looking fifth year boy, with the beginnings of a beard, coming from behind. Dudley brought Harry's hands down and let go of them.

"Let me think." He scratched his chin, and then clicked his fingers. "Got it! Get your bags and let's go."

Harry's eyes bulged. "But, where's your stuff-"

Dudley grabbed Harry's wrist and pulled him towards the first open door. Harry barely had time to grab the handle of his trunk before they were out the door.

A flood of people swarmed them mere seconds after Dudley's foot met the platform, and he had to recoil up the steps of the train so that he didn't get crushed. Harry almost tripped over backwards because of it, but luckily he managed to land seated on his trunk which had neatly slipped under his bum.

Questions were flung at them, like monkeys flinging… well you know at passer-bys in a zoo. Dudley could hardly hear the booming man in front of him, let alone the umpteen others at his side.

"One. At. A. Time!" Dudley yelled over the noise.

Silence fell around the crowd of at least twelve reporters and an ever growing group of spectators behind. Dudley's eyes found the eager faces of Hermione, Dean and Seamus circling the back of the groups, dragging with them bemused adults, who he assumed to be their parents. It was a sight to behold.

A woman in a yellow top hat trotted forward, looking wide-eyed and accusatory. "The magic that was seen so many weeks ago? Is it true you dabble in the Dar-"

"Rita Skeeter!" came a shout from the crowd, and Rita Skeeter stepped forward, with a cameraman and floating feather trailing behind her. "From the Daily Prophet."

She was everything that Dudley had expected her to be, perhaps harder around the jaw than he had imagined. She spoke with an air of authority, which was somewhat surprising, and the way that some of the men scurried away from her provoked the feeling of this being dangerous woman. She reached up, gently placing her hand on Dudley chest, and looked over her gemstone glasses.

"Tell us, Mr Evans, how was your first term at Hogwarts, and is the rumour that you will not be returning there true?"

"Not returning to Hogwarts?" someone in the swarm gasped.

But the reactions of the people were sharply cut off by the blinding flashing explosions of the cameras, as they all swivelled their focus on Dudley. He could hear Harry giggling behind him, and the pit-pat of his feet swinging over his trunk.

Dudley frowned, coughed into his fist, forced a smile, and straightened out his collar.

"Well, Ms Skeeter, I can hardly tell you what my first term was like. But I can, with great certainty, say that the hospital wing is rather lovely."

People in the crowd laughed, particularly the now interested and gathering students.

"As for Hogwarts, I will definitely be returning there at some point. However, I will be taking a larger break than usual to assist in my recovery; although I plan to use this time to study the complexities of magic."

"And what about the trial, Mr Evans? When are you being called in?" a man, rather shrew-like in appearance, shouted as he pushed himself forwards through the reporters. "What will you say?"

Rita shot the man a ferocious look of contempt, and the man smirked at her, as he bumped up alongside her. Something Dudley didn't fail to miss. _It looks like Skeeter's got some competition. _

"Trial? I assume you mean Mr Malfoy's."

"Yes, yes."

"As far as I know, a date hasn't been set yet. However, if I am called to the stand, I will speak only the truth about his revolting actions, not only in the attempt to take my life, but for the countless other children he endangered."

_That'll do. _Dudley thought, as he made a show of looking over at the clock.

"Sorry, I'm afraid I only have time for one more question."

The platform went silent, and Rita and the shrew man's eyes met. They both briskly scuttled forward, and with it the platform exploded in questions. Rita pushed the man, and was about to speak when a little disembodied voice interrupted her.

"As a young wizard, is there anything you would like to say to Muggle-born wizards and witches out there that are just coming into their magic?"

_What a weird question to ask an eleven year old? _Dudley wet his bottom lip, and ran a hand through his long blonde hair. _How would I even know about stuff like that? _

"Go on, Dud!" Dean shouted from the back, laughing. Seamus was grinning beside him, and punched him in the arm. Dudley could hear Harry sniggering from behind.

"Err… I would say…" He frowned, and looked down the cameras.

"I would say-"

"DIDDYKINS!" a loud, shrill shriek cut through the platform.

Dudley felt the blood rush from his face. _Oh Merlin, why…_

Suddenly, a tall slim woman in a plain burgundy dress ploughed through crowds without a care, divided the media mob. There would have been an upheaval, if it hadn't been for the fuming crimson boulder walking stiffly at her heels eyeing the crowd with disgust.

"Dudley!" Petunia called again, throwing her hands around him, pulling him off the platform. "We've missed you so much!"

Petunia squeezed him with what must have been all her strength, and Dudley couldn't do anything but awkwardly hug her back. She stepped back, pulled a white handkerchief from her purse, and dabbed her tearing eyes.

"Oh, you've grown up so much! Look at you, you're so thin." She frowned. "Haven't they been feeding you?"

"…Of course, Mum." Dudley forced a smile, and glanced at Vernon. He was without a doubt on the verge of doing something. Whether that was punching the small man pointing the camera at him, or passing out from pure rage, he didn't know.

"We should go," Dudley added quickly.

Petunia looked at where Dudley was looking and nodded swiftly. Out of the corner of his Dudley saw Seamus and Dean walking towards him with their parents in toe. Dudley held up his hand in warning, and shook his head. They looked at him, confused, but stopped. Dudley turned back to Harry, their eyes met and no words needed to be said. Harry hurriedly grabbed his trunk, and pulled it off the train.

They almost managed to get off the platform to the Muggles' Kings Cross without incident, but the small man had followed them to the pillar leading out. Vernon finally snapped, and put his fist through the little man's camera. Flashes from the other reporters chased them out into the second station.

8

The car ride was spent in a dense silence, only been broken by Petunia asking odd, very well phrased, questions that would have answers that wouldn't involve anything magic.

Harry traded subdued glances with Dudley, who was seething and glaring daggers at that back of Vernon's head. Vernon held the steering wheel so tightly that it wouldn't have surprised anyone had the plastic snapped. At one point the intensity of the silence grew so tense that Petunia started to ask Harry a question. The exchange was so surprising that Vernon almost drove off the duel-carriage way.

Dudley almost wished they had.

When they got back to Privet Drive, they all rushed into the house. The house was as immaculately boring as ever. Vernon immediately locked Harry's trunk in the cupboard under the stairs, and Petunia pulled a large roost beef out from the oven. It was undeniably delicious, and made up for the awkwardness of the surroundings.

Dudley finished his meal, loaded his plate into the dishwasher, and left the table, confiding himself to his room for the rest of the night. He laid out his mini-trunks around the spotless cream carpet so that they could enlarge safely in the morning, and placed the fake Philosopher's Stone under his pillow, before going to sleep.

8

The next morning seem brighter than the one before, or perhaps it was something to do with the smell of bacon coming from the kitchen. Dudley had to carefully twist himself out his room, as the now resized trunks cluttered the carpet making it difficult to move around. He had to hold in his breath to get through his door. Outside, on the landing, Harry was sitting on the stairs, pressing the tip of his wand into his palm.

"You kept that safe, then?" Dudley said with a yawn.

Harry smiled, and leaned back until he was lying on the landing, looking up at him.

"I should always have my wand. That's what you said. I tucked it in the back of my trousers as we were getting in the car."

Dudley raised an eyebrow, and wrinkled his nose.

"You mean you had it stuffed in your crack the whole ride here? Gross…and dangerous. You could've blown off a butt-cheek or something."

Harry burst into laughter, and Dudley rolled his eyes, leaving him holding his ribs on top of the stairs, as he went for breakfast.

Vernon was reading the morning paper, groaning about something or another. He offered Dudley a quick smile, who nodded and sat at the table. Petunia was more welcoming, as she asked him how he slept, looked at his unchanged clothes, and then swiftly shifted the subject to how many eggs he wanted. Harry didn't join them for breakfast; he was too busy making his own.

By the time he had finished, Vernon had gone, and Petunia was washing up. Dudley sat with Harry and watched him eat, whilst making plans for the next two weeks.

As his conversation with Harry turned to magic and the homework that he needed to practice, Petunia suddenly interrupted them.

"The Polkiss' are going to a wedding on Monday, Duddin."

Dudley looked bewildered for a second, as he tried to remember who they were. Then he remembered, as he had only met them a few times on his hunt of money the summer before. He had cut their grass for them a few times and cleaned theirs cars. If he remembered correctly their son Piers was 'too busy to', mostly because he had taken up trolling around the Sunpetal estate down the road. Sunpetal estate could be considered the ruff end of suburb. Not _really_ ruff, middle-class ruff, but all the same not a great place to be hanging out.

Dudley used to do boxing with some of the boys from there, they were pretty much all talk and no trousers. If any of them had been to the estates where some of Dudley's foster homes had been in his old life they'd have be eaten alive before they could even puff-out their underdeveloped chests.

"Err, that's nice."

Dudley smiled, and turned back to Harry.

"I think it's more to do with how you turn your wand, rather than _how_ you pronounce the spell. You know, like the leg-locking jinx."

"What, like the one Fred used on Ron after he threw that spoon? You should have seen Ron's face as he fell, it was so-"

"They can't get a babysitter!" Petunia cried, dropping the frying pan off the draining tray. Harry and Dudley looked at each other with raised eyebrows, as Petunia looked away to pick it up. When she stood back up, her pale face was flushed with pink.

"They wanted to know whether you would stay over theirs…and watch Piers."

"Watch Piers? But we're the same age. He's actually older than me, I think. And besides, we haven't spoken in years."

He frowned, as he stood up, picking up Harry's plate and loading it into the dishwasher.

"You were in the same class with him last year," she said.

"Doesn't mean I ever spoke to him. The boy had issues."

"And you don't?" Harry sniggered, and Dudley leaned back against the table, his arms crossed.

Petunia looked at Harry sharply, and sunk back in his chair. She looked back to Dudley.

"Sweetie, it would only be for a couple of hours during the day, just to keep him out of trouble. They trust you, and they think you'd be a positive influence."

"Really? They don't even know me," replied Dudley cynically.

"They know you're a good student, and that you go to-"

Petunia stopped in mid-sentence, and Dudley looked up at her pointy face, and asked very slowly, "And that I go…where, _exactly_?"

She began to fidget, as she picked up a clean glass and placed it in the cupboard beside her.

"Eton," she whispered under her breath.

Dudley exploded into so much laughter that he had to pull out a chair and sit on it, so that he didn't fall over.

"Eton? They think I'm at Eton? That is too much, even for you," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not doing it. Come on, Harry. There's a book I want to show you."

As they got up to the stairs, Petunia yelled after them.

"They'll pay you!"

Dudley stopped sharply on the step, and he took hold of the banister and leant back, staring at her.

"How much?"

8

"This is humiliating! I'm older than he is. And why does his cousin have to be here?"

Dudley bumped Harry's elbow, turning him so that only he could see his smirk.

"Piers!" came a thundering voice from up the stairs, one that said Mr Polkiss had at some point been in a job where a loud voice was a requirement. "If I hear you complaining one more time, I will not hesitate to throw all those stupid video games of yours outside! Do you understand me?"

Dudley widened his eyes at Harry, he nodded.

"Sorry about that, boys," Mrs Polkiss said from behind them. "Piers can be so dreadful at times." She laughed nervously.

Dudley, forcing a sympathetic smile, turned around. "That's alright, Mrs Polkiss. We don't mind."

Mrs Polkiss was a thick shouldered, 40 something, and she spoke with strained higher-class enunciation. She was a woman who had obviously married above her station, and was seriously pushing herself through the motions of upper middle class life, even, guessing from the sad look in the corner of her eye, she didn't much enjoy it.

_An easy sell, _whispered a distant feeling in the back of Dudley's mind.

"Oh, you're such a polite young man," she said. Mr Polkiss barged into the room like an angry general in a war meeting. He wore a new looking large black suit that stretched around his bulging shoulders.

"Ah, Dudley. Good you see you again." He grabbed Dudley's hand, leaving him with no other choice but to shake it. Mr Polkiss then squeezed his hand tightly in a crushing grip, Dudley reciprocated.

"You, too, Mr Polkiss."

They released. Mr Polkiss smirked in approval.

"Good handshake you got there. Very good." Except for a look of distain, Mr Polkiss ignored Harry as if he wasn't there, choosing to look to his watch instead. "I assume you've been given the full tour?"

Dudley, imagining himself punching the man in the gut, said with a smile,"Yes, Mr Polkiss. Mrs Polkiss had instructed me on everything."

"Good, good, great! Because we really should be off."

Mr Polkiss grabbed his wife by the arm and walked them out the door. Dudley and Harry followed after them.

"Goodbye," Mrs Polkiss said, closing the door. The lock on it clicked shut.

"Goodbye!" Dudley yelled through it. His smile dropped immediately at the sound of the Polkiss's Mazda RX-8 slipping out the driveway.

"What was that all about?" Harry asked, nudging him with his shoulder. He just shrugged, and turned to him. Harry was holding two very large books on the history of magic; but Dudley had sleeved them in the covers of Encyclopaedias, so as not to raise suspicion.

"Comm'on, let's get you started on this report." He sighed, as Harry groaned.

They walked into the lounge, silently admiring the style of the rooms. The walls were neatly furnished with dark greenish wallpaper, embossed with a variety of gold flowers; there were five photographs of the family pinned around the fireplace, and a large canvas of a cropped oil painting of two children in a rowing boat.

Dudley briefly reflected on the static-ness of the painting. Hogwarts had trained his eyes to expect movement, and without it the painting seemed oddly eerie. Suddenly, a ratty-faced boy popped in front of him, and spat on the wall.

"You can go now, posh boy!"

The corner of Dudley's mouth curled, as he stepped forward, and with one hand pushed the boy to the ground. He stood over him, and glared at him darkly. The fright was evident in the young Polkiss's eyes.

"Be a good boy, Piers. Me and Harry are about to do our homework, so why don't you go get yours."

Piers snared, his long nose flaring, but Dudley wasn't at all bothered. Dudley could crush him, and the boy knew it.

"Go. Now."

Reluctantly, the boy picked himself up off the floor, and whilst bearing his teeth, glaring and grumbling under his breath, he climbed up the staircase.

Dudley could hear Harry snickering behind him.

"You sound like Crabbe and Goyle, when you do that," he told him.

The snickering stopped.

"You sound like, Malfoy," retorted Harry.

"Not anymore, I imagine," he muttered, pulling a small notepad from his pocket, walking to the centre of the room, and pulling a small glass coffee-table towards one of the two sofas. He took the books from Harry's arms, and placed them on the table. Harry rubbed the inside of his elbows with glee.

"If they were too heavy, you should have said," said Dudley, as he sat on the sofa.

"It's fine. I can handle it," Harry answered back, stiffly.

Dudley rolled his eyes and pulled out a biro from his breast pocket. "Okay, Harry."

At that moment, Piers stormed in with a pile of papers, and threw them on the floor.

"There! Happy?"

Dudley stared at the now whitewashed carpet.

"That's all your homework?"

"Yeah."

Dudley looked up at the fuming preteen, and grinned.

"That's nothing."

8

Piers stared dopily at the piece of paper in front of him. He looked at Dudley in confused surprise.

"That's it?"

Dudley smiled smugly, satisfied in his work. He'd spent three quarters of the night helping Piers breakdown his homework, and re-teaching him half the techniques the boy needed to actually do it.

"That's it."

"But that's…what? Why don't they just say that then?"

_Because half the time you don't listen to your teachers, _Dudley thought, rubbing the back of his neck. _And the other half is that they don't have the time to teach you. _

"I don't know, maybe because teaching is harder than it looks."

He patted Piers on the shoulder, as he stood up and stretched his stiff back. He looked over to Harry with one semi-closed eye, interlocking his fingers and cracking them towards the ceiling. Harry was hunched over the opposite end of the coffee table, furiously copying quotes from one of the textbooks onto a piece of parchment.

However, judging from the all too familiar look of excitement on his face, it looked like he was on a roll, and didn't need to be disturbed. Dudley looked back to Piers, but he, too, was busy writing up the answers to his assignments. Dudley relaxed his body, and headed for the kitchen. It was time for a well-deserved cup of tea.

As he waited for the kettle to boil, he reached into his pocket and fished out the fake stone. It was warm to the touch. The warmth could easily be mistaken as being the result of being in his pocket all day, but when he squeezed it in his palm, he could feel the heat radiating from within, sucking up his excess magic.

The whistle of the kettle began to sing; Dudley sighed and popped the stone back into his pocket, and took the kettle off the ring. He didn't want the full whistle distracting Piers and Harry.

He poured the water directly onto the teabag in his mug and gave it a stir, pressed the teabag against the side of his mug before dragging the bag out with the spoon and throwing it in the bin. He then poured a small dollop of milk into the mug, and watched as the dark liquid turn into a creamy rich bronze. He took one sip, and gasped with pleasure.

"Britain wasn't built on camomile."

He smiled to himself, and made his way back to the lounge. He was just about to open the door when he heard whispering coming from the other side.

"He's cool, your cousin. Well smart."

"Yeah, I guess."

"We used be best friends, you know."

"Yeah…I remember."

"Oh… Yeeeah…sorry, you know, about all that. It was just…I don't know, you know what I mean? ... Sorry."

There was a long pause.

"I used to hate going to school because of you."

Dudley gripped the handle of his mug.

"You and Dudley, and that little gang you had."

"Sorry."

"Then Dudley changed-"

"Yeah."

"That changed everything. Is it bad, do you think, that I'm glad he did?"

"I…dunno. It were weird, but…I mean he's better now, ain't he? So maybe, yeah, it were a good thing. He's in that posh school now, ain't he? He's probably gonna be richer than us all in a few years."

"Yeah, definitely. You should see what goes on in his mind; I don't know how he does it."

There was another pause.

"This is gonna sound a bit weird, but…is it just me, or do ya get a weird feeling-"

"When he's near you? Yes!"

The two boys laughed, and Dudley frowned.

"It's like the airs all bubbly or something."

"It's worse at school."

"Huh, I thought you went to different schools-"

Dudley quickly opened the door, almost dropping his cup.

"How's the work going, guys?"

Piers and Harry looked at each other, then at their work, and then groaned.

8

It was almost eleven o'clock when the Polkisses finally got back, and Dudley was not happy about it at all. Thankfully, Mr Polkiss was too drunk to haggle, so Dudley basically robbed him blind for his trouble. Unfortunately, neither Mr nor Mrs Polkiss was in any state to drive Harry and Dudley back home. This meant that they had to walk back to number 4 Privet Drive in the dark and snow.

"It's not as cold as I thought it would be, and the street lamps reflect off the snow, so it's not _that _dark." Dudley sniggered, as he shifted the books so that they rested under his left arm, so that he could put his right hand in his pocket. Harry was shadowing him, trying to avoid the icy winds that blew through the empty street.

"Shut up! It's freezing."

Dudley laughed. "Only nine more houses to go. Hang in there, Harry."

Suddenly, one of the books came loose. He tried to catch it, but his hand got caught in his pocket. He then lost his footing on the icy curb and fell over, scraping his left arm on the pavement.

"Dudley, are you alright?"

Harry helped him up, looking concerned, but also trying not to laugh. Dudley grimaced, and pulled the sleeve of his jumper and shirt, where there was a long gash and five little grazes down his arm. But then the skin on his arm started to nip back together, and Harry's eyes widened in surprise.

"Fast-healing, remember?"

The stone in his pocket started to get hotter, and the skin knitting back together began to slow down. Dudley quickly reached into his pocket and pulled the stone out. There was a lowing humming sound coming from it, and the tiny little crystal shards were glowing slightly.

"What's happening?" Harry asked, staring at the stone.

Dudley held the stone closer to the graze, and smiled.

All he said was, "It's working."

8

Over the next week, Dudley found himself babysitting pretty much most of the neighbourhood's kids for parents who had been called way to charismas parties and work-dos. During this time, Dudley had discovered that his surname was still Dursley in the Muggle world. Obviously, the Ministry hadn't seen the point of extending the jinks to Muggles, probably because the two worlds had very little of contact with each other. It was like the two worlds lived in the same building, but on different floors and worked different hours, never really meeting, but existing side by side. _At least Vernon and Petunia get to keep their name,_ Dudley had thought. He couldn't imagine Vernon being at all pleased with adopting Evans as a surname.

For Harry, he was of course dragged along for the ride of whatever house Dudley was serving. Not that Dudley thought he minded. It was far better than staying in the pressure pot of number 4. Every day, the floor of that house seemed to be scattered with more and more eggshells. No one was under any illusion that something was going to kick off; it was all a matter of when.

Finally, there came the time when the Dursleys were invited to a Christmas Eve party by Vernon's boss (Mr Gerald Grunnings-Jr). Dudley begged to stay home, but apparently Mr Grunnings-Jr had heard all about the Dursleys' charming son, and, 'like any family man from a family company', wanted to meet him.

It didn't take as much convincing, as Dudley thought it would, to get Vernon to allow Harry to come to the party. The man had seemed to accept that Dudley didn't go anywhere without Harry these days. What Dudley was pleasantly surprised to hear was that many of the kids he had babysat for would also be there. It turned out that the majority of people living in and around Privet Drive worked, in some capacity, for Mr Grunnings-Jr. However, what was more interesting was that Mr Polkiss was part of a large conglomerate of building firms for the army and that he'd been so impressed with Dudley's 'tutoring' that he'd offered a rather thrifty deal to Vernon two days after.

If Dudley was a sceptic, he might have come to the conclusion that he was being used to help further his father's career. Not that Dudley would condemn this, in fact he was actually rather impressed by it. Every advantage used was and advantage gained after all.

They'd all arrived at the Grunning's house at around six. Everything about the whole occasion reminded Dudley of his old life, as it was all familiar somehow, and _very_ Muggle.

Everyone was finely dressed, including Harry. The Dursleys had rented him a tux, and a rather nice one at that, on the condition that there was '**No Funny Business**'. Dudley had even managed to untangle Harry's hair, by using half a tub gel to style it in place. Dudley brought himself a fine haircut, the first time since he had gone to Hogwarts, and his head felt three times lighter because of it.

_Yes, there was something almost homely about a night without magic. _Dudley thought as they crossed the gates. He touched the stone in his breast pocket, _How long will it last, I wonder?_

8

The Grunning's home was huge and old. There were five main rooms, all of them in use; the Dining Room, the Games Room (for the men and _important people,_ apparently), a Side Room for the partners of the men, a Dance Hall, and the Children's Room. Each room was marvellously decorated for Christmas, with bells and bows and the like. It came nowhere near to Hogwarts decorations, of course, but it could have very well been a contender, at least in the top one hundred.

Most of the night, as expected, was spent in the individual rooms. Harry and Dudley had the most un-pleasurable time talking to Mr Grunning's son, Greg. The boy was duller than a hammer, and more spoilt than several Draco Malfoys put together.

Dudley, an older looking boy, and a much older looking girl seemed to take on the roles of 'obiters of peace' in the room. Dudley held off nine attempts by five of the older children he'd babysat for, from trying to take Mr Grunning's son down. All the children in that room sighed with relief when the main floor was opened, and they could re-join the rest of the party. The boy and the girl, who looked like they knew each other, smiled and nodded at Dudley as they left. He did the same.

Dudley yawned, as he glanced around the ballroom, developing a blueprint in his mind. There were three doors and two fireplaces. At the back of the room, a large Fir tree tickled the ceiling; on each branch sat a white glittering angel that was holding a gold star, but not one angel was identical to another. Underneath the tree, a small orchestra played a mixture of Christmas carols and classical music. And in the centre of the room, couples danced.

Around the edges of the dance floor, people were eating from small trays and drinking champagne. Dudley sorted out the Harry in the crowd, who was standing with Piers, and they both looked grumpy. As he neared them, he could hear them speaking.

"That Greg guy, such a little-"

Piers whispered something to Harry. Dudley didn't catch it, but whatever it was made Harry's eyes widen, before causing him to burst into laughter. The people around them looked down in disgust, and turned their backs to them. Dudley shook his head and stomped over.

"Don't say anything stupid," he warned them under his breath and through gritted teeth. "There are eyes and ears everywhere."

A little boy of about five years took hold of his hand, and tugged on it. He looked down in surprise, but quickly realised it was only Mark Evans, a boy that lived on Wisteria Lane, and who he had babysat for the day before. He knelt down.

"Hey, Mark, what's up?"

"I can't find my Dad."

The boy looked distressed, probably intimated by the crowd of people filling the hall.

"That's okay. Me, Harry and Piers will help you look, alright?"

Mark smiled, and Dudley looked back to Piers and Harry, who both looked rather reluctant.

"Have a heart, guys," he muttered to them, as he stood up. He felt them rolling their eyes behind his back, and he shook his head.

They followed Mark through the crowd. Luckily it didn't take long to find his dad, as he was standing by an enormous long, jet-black Grand piano, to the side of the orchestra, talking to an old gentleman with a pine wood cane, and a forked beard. Mark ran over and hugged his father, oblivious to his dad's conversation with the older man.

His dad apologised to the older man, as his son dragged him towards the man playing the trombone. Out of the corner of Dudley's eye, he saw Harry and Piers smile, but when he turned to gloat it was gone. He grinned to himself, and walked closer, inspecting the piano.

He ran his little finger across the shiny gold logo printed on the curvy dip of the pianos' hull.

"She's a beauty, isn't she?"

Dudley jumped, as he hadn't realised the older gentleman was still standing there. He spun around, his face flushed at being caught. Dudley could see Harry grinning at him mischievously from behind the man.

"Um, yes, yes she is. She looks old."

The old man rolled the cane in his hand.

"She is. She was a gift from an Italian coal tycoon in 1892. My grandfather's pride and pleasure. Would you like to play?"

Dudley's mind rolled information; this man was almost certainly a Gunnings, and judging from his age, not a Jr. That meant that this man must be Mr Gunnings-Sr, which meant this man controlled the future of Vernon Dursley on the tip of his thumb. A sudden panicked pressure built up in his head, and before he could stop himself, he said, "Yes, I love to play."

The old man grinned, and with a shaky hand he lifted the cabinet that hid the piano keys. Dudley had a perfect view of Harry's face, as his jaw dropped to the floor. Harry was obviously thinking the same thing that was running through his mind. _What Have You Done?_

"By all means, I insist," the man said, gesturing towards a red velvet stool.

Dudley laughed, and lightly moved over to sit on it. As he sat down, he ran his fingers across the keys, his mind a complete blank.

"_What am I doing?"_ he whispered to himself through his grin. He knew he could play in his memories (sort of), but this was the first time he'd actually sat down in front of a piano in real life. Moreover, he was acutely aware that some people were throwing glances his way.

_Wow_, he thought. _This escalated quickly._

Dudley dipped one finger on the off-white keys. The sound of that one note reverberated through the piano, through Dudley's figure, up his arm, and into his skull, while outwardly echoing around the hall, silencing some of the orchestra.

He closed his eyes for a moment, holding that note, following it down the twisted corridors of his mind. He could feel the fake stone getting hotter in his jacket pocket. Never opening his eyes, he swiftly took his jacket off and laid it on the stool next to him. He needed magic this time.

Dudley opened his eyes, and for the first time that night he spotted Vernon and Petunia. He watched their faces change from pleasant smugness to horrified awe, as their eyes made contact from across the room. At that ghastly moment, the note struck something in Dudley's mind, like a hammer hitting a bell.

He looked at the piano in shock, and whispered, "I know piano."

He dropping his fingers, and they danced on the keys. As the amazement of it began to subside, Dudley began to hear what he was playing, and grinned from ear to ear.

Hedwig's theme echoed around the room, and the orchestra stopped playing all together, pulling everyone's attention to Dudley's playing. With each note he played, he gained greater and greater confidence. It was like riding a bike that was already moving, and as soon as Dudley got his feet on the pedals, and his hands on the handlebars, he could control it.

As the melody came to an end, he finally looked up. Vernon was letting out a large sigh of relief; Petunia had her hand on his shoulder. A small crowd of people clapped politely. Dudley bowed. Vernon moved in through the crowd, calmly, until he stood next to the old man with the cane. They whispered something, and the old man waved to another gentlemen. It was a much younger man and looked like the older man's youthful equivalent. The three men disappeared just as Dudley began moving towards Harry, Piers and Petunia.

Suddenly, an arm snatched him out of the crowd.

"Come with me!" it hissed.


	21. The Vow

Thanks to my Bata reader Storyseeker :)

**The Vow: **

"Come with me." There was no hiding the arrogance in the voice. It was that arrogance that allowed Dudley to predict who the mystery man grabbing his arm was. Mr Crow dragged him out of the main hall, through the dining room, and into a diamond shaped conservatory. He then threw him into the centre of the room.

Dudley spun around from the momentum of the throw, but managed to steady himself before he fell. He turned towards Mr Crow, and planted his feet firmly on the tiles of the conservatory. He glared at him from beneath the blonde hairs of his eyebrows, ignoring the chill and darkness of the room.

Mr Crow pulled out his wand and made a swiping motion across the doors and windows, the sound of a dozen locks clicking was silenced by the return swing of Mr Crow's arm. The silence was complete, only the breathing of Mr Crow and Dudley could be heard. They were alone.

"That was perhaps the most revolting thing I have ever seen!" Mr Crow slipped his wand into the breast pocket of his jacket, and sneered. "Performing magic for Muggles, for their…_entertainment_. You degrade your kind!"

Dudley stood to his full height, and turned around as he put on his jacket. As he straightened it, he felt for the stone. It was warm against his chest. Taking a large breath of the cold air, he faced him.

"It wasn't magic. I was good, don't you think?"

"Not magic?" Mr Crow chucked, shaking his head condescendingly. "You should take more care in choosing who you lie to, Mr Evans. Your little stunt with the piano could be felt from the gardens of this house."

Dudley wanted to frown, but masked his reaction. "Why are you here, Mr Crow?"

Crow ran two fingers across his bulb-like-head, in a gesture that was similar to brushing a lock of hair away from one's eyes, and tucking it behind an ear. "It has come to the attention of the Ministry that Lucius Malfoy may have contacted Firebrands; in an attempt to halt his trial."

"Firebrands?"

"They are basically rejected Hit Wizards and Auror applicants, embittered by their own inability to become part of the solution, they have decided to become part of the problem instead."

"Pathetic." Dudley and Mr Crow said at the same time.

Mr Crow smiled.

"They are little more than mercenaries for hire, relatively new, and known only for specialising in 'Tracking Down The Untraceable', usually only wizards protected by the Ministry. Hardly a difficult 'specialisation', if one has access to the…ahh, I'm getting ahead of myself."

Dudley's blood had run cold. _Mercenaries? Lucius Malfoy had sent mercenaries after him? Unbelievable_.

"The wards around my house. These _Firebrands_, even if they find me, they won't be able to touch me or the…_my_ family. Not while I'm inside," he said, adamantly.

Mr Crow's mouth twitched. "Not…"he paused, mid-step, and looked Dudley up and down, examining him slowly, "…exactly."

"Not exactly?" Dudley scoffed and crossed his arms. "What _exactly_ does that mean? Are we protected or not? Don't dumb it down."

"I don't have to 'dumb it down', I appreciate that." Mr Crow smirked. "The wards protecting your house are tailored to guard your cousin. The only safeguards that you and your parents possess are at most a curtsy of Albus Dumbledore and the Ministry of Magic."

"I see." Dudley reached up and smoothed his right eyebrow with his index finger. "They can break through them then?"

"No," said Mr Crow slowly. "It would take an exponential amount of magic to breakthrough or breakdown the wards. Any attempt to do so would immediately alert the Ministry."

"No home invasions then?"

Mr Crow frowned. "What I mean to say is; you lack personal protection, Mr Evans. The safety awarded to you, thus far, is due to your bloodline's proximity to Mr Potter. The Firebrand won't attack you while Potter is there. They'll get you when you're alone, away from your home and ward, or else make their own jobs far more difficult than it's worth."

"You're here tonight to guard me then?"

"Among other things, yes."

There was a silence. "_Other_ things?"

"Albus Dumbledore promised you something that wasn't his to offer."

Dudley frowned in confusion. "And what would that be?"

He raised an eyebrow. "The records of the Department of Magical Research."

Dudley distantly remembered the night in Dumbledore's office, when Snape attacked him and the old professor stole his wand. He'd almost forgotten the discussion before the fight. "Ah."

"You remember?"

"Vaguely… It was a…confusing time." Dudley looked down at his shiny black shoes.

"Hmm. Well, it needn't matter. He had no right to make the promise, and I'm revoking it."

"Ooo-kay," Dudley raised his eyes to Mr Crow's, curiously sensing that there was something more in what the man was saying.

"However, I am willing to make a deal with you."

Dudley did not say anything at first, as he wasn't sure where he was going with this 'deal', and the way he said it seemed odd, not sinister, just not quite…right. Dudley was becoming very aware that he was alone, and that no one would be able to hear him if he yelled.

"What kind of deal, Mr Crow?"

Mr Crow smirked. "I will grant you assess to _all _research projects without restriction. However, you will have to make an Unbreakable Vow." He paused, as if waiting for Dudley ask what an Unbreakable Vow was, but when he realised he didn't need to, he carried on. "You will be treated as an unspeakable, forbidden to tell a soul about the information you learn, unable to utter a word to anyone who is not approved by me, in person. And on completion of your education, you will work for me in the Department of Magical Research."

Dudley hardened his face, and narrowed his eyes distrusting. The sudden change in his expression seemed to unsettle Mr Crow, as the arrogant smirk of certainty seemed to falter. He hadn't expected the change, but neither had Dudley.

In truth, Dudley was scared. Why would Mr Crow offer such a 'deal'? The only conclusion that he could draw was that Mr Crow _knew,_ or at least he knew_ something_ that he wasn't telling! Perhaps it was one blow too many, but something snapped inside him, and for once he didn't feel like hiding who he was. He was Nicholas Larkin! Not some little plaything that people could make decisions for.

His face became stone hard with rage, and he stepped towards Mr Crow. The man was now composed, back into his arrogant self, the initial shock of the change in Dudley's expression warring away.

Nicholas held up his right arm, holding it ready and reluctantly. Mr Crow stared at the hand, and then to him. The darkness in Nicholas' face bore through his eyes, and his voice was like the growl of a Hungarian Horntail. "I will _not _work for you indefinitely, and any invention I create shall belong to me in both right and patent, and you _will _pay me well."

Mr Crow grasped Nicholas' forearm, and Nicholas pulled the man down so close that their noses were touching. "You will tell me everything you know, and you will never tell anyone. Is. That. Clear?"

Mr Crow held his breath, and glared deeply into Nicholas eyes with what can only be described as morbid fascination and excitement.

"40 years," he replied.

"10."

"30."

"20."

"Done!"

In a flash, like liquid motion, Mr Crow pulled out his wand, and silver ribbons streamed out from its tip, entangling their clasped arms. The Vow came with a painful mixture of a knife slicing through flesh, and a salt-covered rope squeezing the wound closed.

8

Dudley stormed out, hot tears scorching his eyes and blurring his vision. He ploughed through the ballroom, also knocking people over. Smoke was tufting out of his jacket, from where the stone had begun to smoulder in his shirt.

One look at Harry and Petunia, and they knew the party was over. Petunia disappeared, trying to find Vernon; Harry tried asking what had happened, but was met with a wall of silence, as Dudley headed non-stop out of the building.

Petunia had found Vernon; he was busy talking to a group of five men drinking whiskey. She whispered something in his ear, and his face went pale, and then beetroot red. He yanked his keys from his pocket, and forced them into her hands. It was obvious that he wasn't coming with them, not now. Dudley didn't care though, as he just left, the stone burning against his chest.

The three of them left the Gunning's estate, and Dudley made Harry sit up front with Petunia, so that he was sitting on his own in the back. For the whole journey he stared at his right arm. Crow had used his rage and tricked him. He had laughed in his face and humiliated him, that arrogant laugh echoing in his ears. The man could choose not to say a thing about what he knew for the next 20 years.

He didn't speak when got to the house. He ran straight into his bedroom, throwing the door open, only for it to recoil against one of his trunks, and the edge of the door cracked into his head, opening a nasty gash in his forehead.

Blinded, he fought his way into the room, and slammed the door shut. What happened next lasted for an unfathomable amount of time. He tore apart his bedroom, everything in sight and anything he could touch. He put his fists through the plaster wall and the wardrobe, cutting open his fist, snapped the backboard of his bed into three jagged pieces, one of which flew upwards and shattered the light-bulb.

Thunderous rain showered through the now broken window, the wind blowing what was left of the curtains open, flooding the room with the orange glow of the street lamps. In an act of mercy, he tore down the last of the curtain shreds from the shattered plastic curtain-rail, and slumped himself into the corner of the room, furthest from the door, and observed his chaos. He had decimated his neatly packed trunks beyond repair.

This was too much destruction for just one person. His magic must have gone wild, as he could taste the rage of it still lingering in the air. He felt his pocket for the stone, only to find there was only a burned out hole in the soaking blazer.

Dudley's ears caught the stone faster than his eyes, even through the noise of the dying storm, as the sound of hissing steam from the rain drops battered on it. He saw it in a fist-sized hole, through the melted carpet and chard floorboards, where it had fallen and was now glowing, almost invisible under the orange haze of the lights, but looking very hot.

Other than a few books, nothing much else could be seen in the room that existed before.

Finally, Dudley crouched in a corner of the obliterated room. As the sweat pooled from his brow into the caked blood from his knuckles and forehead, with dust from the books and plaster in his hair, and dried out tears, with his last act of energy he pulled the ripped duvet cover from his beaten and bent mattress, and covered himself with it.

8

Dudley awoke with the sun on his face, and a deep rumbling groan. His whole body was knotted up tight and ached, curtsy of sleeping curled up in a ball on the floor. Adding injury to an already injured ego, Harry was sitting on the bare bed-frame, watching him, his expression somewhere between amusement and concern. Dudley groaned again, as he put his hands down to sit up.

"Ah!" A sting of pain travelled up his arm, as he got himself up right, and looked at his hands. They were caked in a bloody mess, shards of glass and splinters of plaster and wood embedded deep within his palms and knuckles. Dread and horror dropped over him, as he realised that they had healed right into his hands.

"Wand," he mumbled.

"What?" Harry blinked.

"Wand!" he said louder and more firmly.

Harry's expression darkened, losing all of its amusement, as he frowned and pulled out his wand from his back pocket, handing it gently to his cousin.

"Thanks," Dudley muttered. He held the wand loosely, every movement of his hands sending little electrocutions of pain throughout them, as the crap inside them poked at the flesh and nerves within. He pointed Harry's wand at his right hand, hoping to save his wand-hand first.

There were hundreds of spells that dealt with splitters, just like there were a million spells for any everyday run-of-the-mill accident (paper-cuts topping the list at over twenty thousand). The reason for this phenomenon was that wizards throughout history had always been very secretive and isolated, and so common experiences drove them to create their own individual and inventive ways of handling their problems. The downside being that, until Hogwarts, wizards never thought to share their knowledge with anyone else, other than their own families (particularly purebloods families), thus many spells, and ways of using magic, were now lost forever. Luckily, the spell Dudley knew was a simple point and shoot.

"Ah, ah! Arrrghhhhhhhhhh!" Dudley howled, as a long, thin shard of glass slowly broke from the skin in-between his knuckles, blood gushing up from the gaping wound, as the glass landed with a 'tink' on the lid of one of the disregarded and torn apart trunks.

Harry went as white as a sheet, his eyes fixated on the shard, panicky repeating the words _"bloody"_ and _"Merlin"_ the whole time, unable to tear his eyes away from the gore. Suddenly, he must have snapped to his senses, as he bolted from the room, running back in with toilet-rolls and towels, then running down the stairs and back up again with a bowl.

"Hot water or cold?" he screamed from the landing.

Dudley couldn't help himself, and smiled. Harry must have thought he'd opened a vein or something, _there is a lot of blood _Dudley thought, gent turning his hand. However, it was a whole lot worse than it looked. Plus, they had magic.

"Cold, ice cold!" Dudley looked back at his hands, and held the wand to it.

It took an hour and a half, and several bowls of water, to rid his right hand of the debris, not including breaks. However, it took a lot less for the left hand, because Dudley could move the wand more freely, albeit painfully with his right. Harry could not_ not_ watch the whole thing, his eyes super-glued to the scene in enthrallment for the majority of the gruelling ordeal.

Dudley's hands healed slowly. Impatient, he told Harry to pick out the stone from the hole in the floorboards, and take it into his own room. He then cast the healing spell that he'd used on Harry after the attack of the keys. The spell was notably weaker than it had been back then, and Dudley guessed that was to be expected, since the spell was powered by positive emotions, and he wasn't feeling anything much at all at the moment.

He dryly examined the room again, and pointed the wand at the window. "_Vitreoinfigo_."

Shards of glass flew through the air like bullets; Dudley slammed his back against the wall to avoid it. Each piece fixed itself together in the windowsill like a large puzzle, mending as they did, until only a clear sheet of glass was left.

A small _"oh my"_ came from the doorway. Dudley was expecting to see Harry, but as it turned out, it was Petunia.

She was holding a large tray, with a plate stacked with bacon, toast, tomatoes, eggs, and a jug of orange juice.

"Hi," he said lamely.

"W-what was that?" Dudley could see that she was trying.

"Umm, the window was broken, so I just cast a quick spell to fix it. It's the first time I've used it on glass. I used it on a broken mirror at Hog…at school once, but it didn't make the pieces fly around the room, probably because all the broken bits were sitting at the bottom of the frame."

"Oh. That's nice, dear." Petunia lowered the tray, resting it at the foot of the door. "I made breakfast." She stood up and forced a smile, although her eyes betrayed her sadness. "Merry Christmas." She turned away.

"Wait." Dudley hesitated, surprised at himself. "Err, has dad come home yet?"

Petunia didn't turn around, her voice shaky. "No, not yet."

"Oh."

She began walking away again.

"Mum!" She paused, and Dudley took a deep breath. "I love you. Merry Christmas."

She stopped in mid-step, as something changed in the way she stood, and Dudley thought he saw a small smile on her thin lips, as she gave him a slight backwards. Then she walked way, out of view.

He leaned against the wall, and sighed.

Harry popped his head around the door, and then snuck back into the room. "That was a nice," he said.

_Lies usually are,_ Dudley thought. He stood up and pointed Harry's wand at the light-bulb. He would fix it and put a new one in. Then he would repair his books, which shouldn't be as big a problem as it looked, but the trunks, however, was another story.


	22. Black Box

AN: SO quick to add the next chapter that I forgot to thank my beta, thank you Storyseeker :) Also a big thank you for you readers and reviewers x

**Black Box**

After changing into some more appropriate attire, Dudley, with the aid of Harry, began tidying what was left of his room. However, what should have been an all day job was cut significantly short by Dudley's liberal use of Harry's wand on the dust and damp that had somehow invaded every gap and crevice.

_Practice,_ Dudley upset mind clung to_, Practice for when we move into Grimmauld place_. _Yes, practice_.

"What you gonna do about these?" Harry asked, picking up one side of the now gutted trunks.

Dudley glanced at what he was holding and shrugged, curving his wrist slightly as he turned Harry's wand to several damp books. He cast a small spell that evaporated the damp out of the pages, and cast another that caught the steam in a bubble. He then floated _that_ out of the open, curtain-less window.

"I'll need something far more advanced than what I've got to fix those. Their martial is too complicated."

Harry frowned and dropped the trunk. "You can fix a broken window, but you can't put a trunk back together?"

"_Only_ because it wasn't anything special or…double-glazed." Dudley sighed, and started to de-damp another book. "I'd need a Reparo-_trunk_ or something. Spells have to be stronger and more specific for those sorts of things…and I'm just not there yet. Besides, anything more than a point-and-shoot, and we'll probably attract attention from the Ministry."

"But we're famous." Harry smiled, picking up another piece of trunk and throwing it on the growing pile. "What's the Ministry gonna do."

"No, _you're_ famous. I'm just a curiosity." Dudley blew the steam bubble out the window, and watched it disintegrate and assimilate into the air outside. "They'll forget about me, given time, but you're part of history, 'priority number one'."

Harry gave an unconvinced 'Humph'. "But you killed that troll and You-Know-Who."

Dudley frowned; it wasn't the first time Harry referred to Voldemort as You-Know-Who. In fact, he swapped between the two quite often. Mostly he put it down to one of Ron's influences, but he knew Seamus and Dean and the twins did it, too.

"I didn't kill anyone. I swapped…I don't know…'_life-forces'_ or something with the Troll." He paused. "He got worse as I got better, that's all I know and-"

"Then you ripped off its head," Harry mumbled with a smile.

Dudley dropped his face at that, and then wrinkled his nose. "Well, I don't really remember that. Anyway, Voldemort's still alive, I just…kicked him out," he added airily, and floated out another bubble of steam. "He's probably in the forest now, munching on some unicorns."

Harry dropped the trunk lid he was about to throw. "He's still _alive!_" Then he muttered under his breath, "Dumbledore was right."

Harry then looked over to him out of the corner of his eye, which Dudley assumed was because he expected him to ask a question about what Dumbledore had said. He didn't know what Dumbledore might have said, but he could guess. However, he honestly couldn't care less, and to be perfectly frank he wanted nothing more than to avoid any conversation about Dumbledore or any other manipulative men.

Instead he mumbled, "Yeah, _he's_ alive…should really do something about that."

"Huh?"

Dudley sighed. "Do you know what a Horcrux is, Harry?" Obviously, he knew that he didn't, but some appearances were important to maintain.

"No?"

Dudley tried to hide a wicked smile by turning back to the book. "Ask Dumbledore about them the next time you see him. I'd like to know about them, too."

"Okay, a Horcross."

"Horcrux."

"Horcrux."

"Yeah, can you remember that?"

"Shut up!" Harry snorted, and then he began to smirk. "Just be-"

"Dudley! Are you and… the boy, finished…doing…what you're doing?! Do you want to open your presents now?!" came Petunia's shrill voice from the bottom of the stairs.

"Almost, mum!" Dudley yelled back, choking out the word 'mum', surprised by the easiness at which it came to his throat. "We'll be down in a second!"

"Dinner will be ready soon!" she replied.

He turned back to Harry. "Shall we go?"

Harry smiled dropping the trunk he was about to pick up. "Sure, I could do with a few more of your hand-me-downs." He laughed.

Dudley's eyes widened, as a light glinted in his eyes. "You'll be getting more than that," he said with a grin.

8

The small plastic tree was packed with a few dozen boxes and packages, most of which were, of course, for Dudley. They were a few thank you gifts from families he had babysat for, a couple from Aunt Marge, and a dozen or so from Petunia and Vernon.

Dudley was, however, somewhat disappointed. He wasn't one for presents, as money or a good book was always much better, but he had expected the room to be, well, fuller…just for Harry. Yet, by the time Petunia's roast turkey was taken from the oven, and smell of it began to fill the air, the boys had discovered something rather odd about their gifts.

"Where are they coming from?" Harry asked, his head almost completely under the tree. Dudley sat back onto his feet and shook his head.

"I don't know. Do it again, and try not to blink."

Harry pulled a rather crumpled parcel out from under the tree, when suddenly like a flash (but without any light) another present appeared in the exact same spot. Obviously they knew it was magic, but they were both so fascinated by it that they'd lost interest in their gifts, and instead were pulling out what seemed an endless line of presents.

"This is amazing. Perhaps it's some sort of apparition…but who could have done it?" Dudley's brow knitted, as Harry pulled out another present addressed to him. He read the label on this one and unwrapped it gently.

"Someone must have snuck into the house, and enchanted…what's that?!" Dudley barked in excitement.

Harry had pulled up an emerald woolly jumper from a package he'd decided to open. The jumper was embodied with a large yellow H, but that wasn't what caught Dudley's attention. Underneath the wrapping still resting on Harry's knees was another package, in the same wrappings as Harry's.

He quickly snatched up the present, a grin growing on his face. He unwrapped the gift with savage haste, and proudly pulled out a huge violet-blue jumper. He held it up and out, letting it unfurl to its full size, showing a large green 'D' on its front and, surprisingly, a Troll's head in the middle of the D, with the word Thunder Thrower in a circle around it.

_That explains the size, _Dudley thought, as he then looked at his stomach, _or at least I hope it does._

"Wow," Dudley gasped, regardless of thoughts and insecurities.

"Yeah. Good thing you've got your own-" Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by Dudley's girlish squeal. Harry was so startled by it that his glasses nearly fell off the end of his nose when he jumped.

"My very own Molly Weasley original! Ohmygodthisissoamazing!" He hooted, as he dived into the jumper. "Its soooo soft." He hummed in delight, as his head popped out from the top end.

"You are mental!" Harry barked back, clutching his jumper.

Dudley ignored him, and instead picked up the fallen card that was attached to the wrapping: -

_To Dudley Evans,_

_Merry Christmas from the Weasley family,_

_We all wish you luck with the trial, and we hope to see you soon._

"Ugh…the trial." Dudley groaned, rolling his eyes over to a headless Harry, as he tried putting his head through the wrong hole in his jumper. "It never stops."

As if on cue, there was knock from the front door.

Harry and Dudley, still sitting by the tree, craned their necks to look into the hallway, to see who was there, when Petunia opened the door. When she did, she dived behind the door, as nine owls flew in, dragging a large parcel with them. Once it was through the threshold of the house, they let go of their strings, rolled over twice, and swiftly flew out the open door.

When they were gone, Petunia closed the door behind them, her eyes the size of saucers, and returned to the kitchen without any acknowledgment of what had just transpired.

Harry watched her go, and muttered something Dudley didn't quite catch. Mrs Weasley's jumper rolled past his hips, as Harry stood up and made for the large crate. "Bet it's for you."

"Knowing my luck it's probably a Goblin, with a knife…and a warrant." Dudley held out his hand, which Harry grabbed and hoisted him up with. They then went over to the package, to investigate.

The crate took up about a third of the hallway, but was so light that even Harry could have lifted it over his head. The boys carried it into the Living Room, clearing a space large enough to allow the sides of the crate to fall down evenly. Each side of the crate was stamped, in black ink, with the large Ministry of Magic 'M' logo, and encircled in that, in a spinning ring of block capitals, were the words: DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL THEORY.

Harry raised an eyebrow at Dudley, as if to ask 'what have you done now?'

Of course, Dudley knew that _if _this was related to Mr Crow's promise, he wasn't going to answer, not because he felt he couldn't, rather because of his uncertainly around the perimeters of the Vow. As the feeling of the unknown crept on his skin, he instantly planned to do some research, mentally sliding it up in his ever changing list of priorities. As for Harry, he ignored his gaze and focused his attention solely on the crate.

There was a letter pinned to the top panel of the box by a gold ellipse, the letter addressed to him. Dudley had to slide the letter out from under the elliptical tag, which was not a pin at all, but rather like a magnet in nature, as it was stuck firmly to the spot, and did not tear the letter as he pulled it free.

The letter said nothing important. It was nothing more than a generic slip giving him 'official' permission to assess whatever was in the crate. It had been rubber stamped at least three times, once by Mr Crow, and once surprising by Mr Fudge, although Dudley doubted that the Minster had even read it. This assumption was based purely on Dudley's own experience of forms' being snuck under his nose by lackey ladder climbers, trying to slyly gain a foothold and higher funding packets for their departments, than Fudge himself.

The last stamp was from someone Dudley didn't know, but again, guessing from his own experiences, it was either someone from security, or someone with the job of checking that there was actually something in the crate and it was being sent to the right location. The letter did, however, have one instruction: DUDLEY EVANS. _Hold Thumb On Lock_.

Seeing no lock, Dudley thoughtlessly pressed his thumb on the only thing that seemed out of place on the large parcel, which was the gold pendant sized ellipsis, and immediately slapped his face as he pulled it off. "Stupid!" he muttered at himself, the box could be anything.

_Just because it looks official, doesn't mean it is. It could be bomb for all I know._

Eight blue-lighted, pinpointed laser beams shot out of the connecting corners of the crate, and chased one another across the seals of the box, before suddenly stopping. Then each side of the wooden crate was simultaneously and systematically vaporised by the lasers, filling the Living Room with bright blue light, and the smell of ozone and pine.

For Dudley, the whole experience seemed less…magical, as it definitely wasn't the homebrew, chunky, funny loving, could go either way type of magic that he'd been exposed to at Hogwarts. This was colder, more clinical, and boarding on some sort of animatronic science-fiction type of magic. There was _no_ feeling in it, only purpose and action. It made Dudley shudder, and to his surprise, Harry did the same. When the crate had completely disappeared, they both glanced at each other, sharing a weary look, and regarded the object left by the now vaporised box.

It was a simple briefcase, expensive looking and purpose driven, jet black, leather, solid bottom and top, firm sides, the angles of its corners clasped in gold that ran, unbroken, across the seams of the case. It was the definition of a _proper_ briefcase, and stamped and embossed in gold was the official MoM logo on the side and lid, made especially so that any passer-by who would see it would see a symbol of status, one that said, quite clearly: I'm more important than you.

Dudley took a step closer to the briefcase. Looking down at it, he saw that where the latches should have been were golden ellipses. These were smaller than the one on the crate, and looked to have the smudge of a thumbprint on them. However, upon closer inspection, these were forged into the melt.

He had no doubt that if he looked at his thumbs, they would match those on the briefcase. He shuddered again, wondering how and when _they _had got his fingerprints, as he didn't know that such a technique was even used by wizards.

He said none of what he was thinking to Harry, and, again fearful of the consequences of such a conversation starter, he silently took the case by its handle, took it upstairs and placed it into the cupboard of his recovering bedroom, before running back downstairs, and pretending that nothing out of the ordinary had just occur.

He then quickly sorted out the package that most likely hid the invisibility cloak, and tossed it to Harry, who slowly sat down next to him, his gaze never dropping. The look was so penetrating that he was glad the boy couldn't read minds. He then became greatly saddened, as a moment that should have belonged to Harry had once again been stolen away by him and his mistakes.

Petunia suddenly called them from the kitchen. Dinner was ready.

Dinner was amazing. Say what you will, but Petunia could cook, and cook well when she wanted to. It was also a great way to break the darkening mood and dense tension that had sprouted from the appearance of crate and the briefcase.

Harry and Dudley were now discussing the uses of the cloak at the dinner table, while Petunia sat staring out the window. Dudley suspected she wasn't actually looking at anything, as she seemed like someone whose mind was heavy, busy weighing out a problem that no one else could see clear enough to solve (he knew that feeling well). She was even too busy to notice that the word 'magic' had been used 14 times.

"That whole rubbish with the stone would have been a lot easier with the cloak," Harry said merrily, running a piece of turkey on the left-over gravy on his plate.

"Yeah," replied Dudley, his eyes closed, as his own mind was also focused elsewhere. "Yeah, it would."

8

Dudley went to bed earlier than usual, but he couldn't sleep. Every thought was a heavy cloud that circled around in a maelstrom, deepening in complexity, as he tried to untangle the mess at the centre of the storm.

He was small and depressed. It was so late in the night that it was nearly tomorrow, and all he could hear was Petunia sobbing downstairs. The whole thing seemed beyond him now. He was nothing against the tapestry of this world around him, and yet everything he touched turned sour. He once foolishly thought this world would be cool and fun, but it was nothing but cursed.

Dudley stiffly moved around in his bed until there was nothing else to do other than sit up. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, and then brought his legs over to the side of the bed, eventually making his way out of his room. He made it to the stairs, paused, and then put his best foot forward, but instead of hitting the next step; it collided with something soft and squishy.

"Ow!" the front half of Harry appeared out of thin air, and punched Dudley in the shin, the hand recoiling as it only hit bone, but it had Dudley hopping, as he grasped it in pain.

"Ah! The hell, Harry!" Dudley seethed through his teeth at the half of Harry's face that he could see.

"You kicked me," Harry accused, cradling his fist.

"You were invisible. Why were you on the stairs anyway?" But he knew why, as Harry turned his head away, making him completely invisible from his point of view.

"How long you been sitting there?" he whispered, as he sat beside him on the top step.

Harry didn't answer. If he had shrugged then Dudley couldn't see him, so having no other clues he just assumed that that was what Harry had done. They sat there, listening to Petunia sobs, the house seemingly swallowed by it.

"You know, I'm not sorry he's gone," he whispered.

Harry turned his head, one of his emerald eyes shining through the gold loop of his glasses from a gap in the cloak.

"He was a terrible human being, the worst; I don't know how you didn't turn out hating Muggles because of him."

Harry didn't say anything; his one eye looking out in the darkness, which was the only clue that revealed he was still there. Dudley couldn't bear to look at it, as he could see too much in it. He put his hands over his ears, trying to blanket out the moans of Petunia, but her sadness drummed though them, the only thing that could be heard in the silence.

"I-I really don't like the idea of being here any longer." Dudley pulled his hands away from his ears, and grabbed fistfuls of his Weasley jumper. "The little things, they're nice, and they help me to forget, but- the _little_ things are just-just too small. I was ignorant and arrogant to think I could belong here. There are people out there that need me, that miss me. There are people out there that _I _need, Harry." Dudley felt a tear he hadn't known was there fall from his chin. "Harry, I love you, I really do, but I can't stay-"

"You're going to leave?" Harry cut through, standing up as he pulled the cloak off and threw it hard at Dudley. "Go then!"

"Harry-"

"No, you said you wanted to go, so go! No one's stopping you!"

"Yes, there are," he muttered. He hadn't stood up, as he didn't think he could. "They're outside the house, waiting for me. Some are probably waiting for you, too."

Harry stiffened. "How long-"

"I was talking figuratively. I don't know if they're actually out there right now. I'm saying _they_ might as well be."

Harry didn't move. He just stared down at him, using a look Dudley hadn't seen him use before. When he spoke, the animosity of before had gone, and instead he spoke with frightened concern. "Are you alright, Dud?"

Dudley lulled his heavy head. "No, I'm not." He picked up the cloak and pulled it around him. "I want to go home."


	23. Some Nights

**Some Nights I Win**

"Dudley?"

Harry's voice was coming from the other side of his bedroom door, and it fell on Dudley's ears like rats fighting over bones.

He sat hunched over his bed, continuing to count his problems. He was trying to calculate how much unhappiness he could attribute to each decision he had made since he had arrived in this nightmare fantasy. His mind still twisted with anger and rage, which still bubbled deep in the depths of his stomach, although it was now simmering instead of roaring. How he wished he could tear it all out and be done with it. Magic had caused nothing but problems, and yet it was the only thing he had left to hold on to, magic and…Harry.

He gritted his teeth, and closed his fist so tightly that his nails threated to break the skin on his palms. If it wasn't for Harry he would have gone by now, and he knew it. He had the knowledge to take this world by storm. He could manufacture a revolution in technology. So, why hadn't he?

He snorted. Because he was still in the body of a child, because of magic, because of Harry.

Dudley rubbed his eyes, as if brushing tears off, as he whispered to himself, "I can't blame…_him_."

Yet, he wanted to, he wanted some to blame someone other than himself. _If Harry hadn't tricked me into loving him. _He smiled. _If anything, __**I**__ tricked Harry into caring about __**me**_. So it all came back to him in the end, to his arrogance and hubris.

He thought everything would have been better had none of this ever happened at all, had he played the Muggle, grown up like a Muggle, he could make himself seem gifted (well, more gifted) to Muggles, and create an empire. It would have taken time, but he was patient, he could… _No,_ he thought, _no, not patient, not patient at all._

"Dudley, you can't hide in there forever," came Harry's voice again.

"Have you ever been so angry that you wanted to rip out your own heart, Harry?" Dudley asked the door. He wondered if Harry would reply. In the end, he didn't, not to his question at least.

"Whatever it is, Dudley, we can figure it out together, when I get back."

"Ah, I forgot." Dudley stood up; the room had long since been tided, and he did need to think to avoid the spots of overflowing papers. He walked over to a desk, and opened a journal turning to the calendar.

"You're leaving today, aren't you?"

It wasn't a question, but more a recognition of fact. How time seemed to roll by when the world around you no longer mattered. He had truly thought he might have a chance at recovery after the gala, after the 'deal', after his tantrum. Then he received a letter, signed by the Minster of Magic no less.

He pulled the fine cut piece of parchment from the fold in his journal.

_Dear Dudley Dursley,_

_It has come to the Ministry of Magic's Magical Law Enforcement's attention that you have wilfully disregarded Law pertaining to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy Act 1692 by performing magic in full view of Muggles, both at Grayson Manor with the use of memory reinforcement charms, and number 4 Privet Drive with the conjuring of a revenant storm, which cause significant damage to Muggle property. As you are underage, Muggle-born, and do not have access to a wand due to your current invalid position, you have been afforded some leniency. However, due to these outstanding charges, and apparent disregard of Wizarding Law, it has been filed against you that as a witness you are made an Unreliable. _

_As you are Muggle-born, it must be made clear, for acts of clarity, that the position of Unreliable hereby signifies that you may not at any point, until proven Reliable, be used as a witness of any act prohibited by Wizarding Law without three other witnesses present to any crime. _

_Furthermore, upon such a time as you are to receive your wand, you are exhibited from use of that said wand, until proven you are of an acceptable mind to use it without causing harm to Property, People or Muggles etc._

_Signed,_

_Cornelius Fudge, Minster Of Magic._

The rage did not rise above the simmer rooted in Dudley's gut; he had grown used to the letter now, and all that it meant. He had not been able to convict Lucius Malfoy as he had hoped, and the most Mr. Malfoy would receive would be a charge for holding dark artefacts, many of which seemed to have gone missing due to a Ministry official developing a sudden bout of craziness and stealing a large proportion. He was found not long after in a river, his pockets filled with inkpots.

The prophet had printed that he had bitten off all his fingers, which many suspected out of his own insanity. Dudley suspected it was so that he couldn't write anymore. It was this last little push that had tipped him over the edge into complete avoidance of the world, as he sat in his room reading his books, letting everything else go.

Dudley had come down for Christmas, but it was a dreadfully sad affair. Vernon had still not returned home, and the people at his job were giving Petunia the cold shoulder.

_Poor Petunia._ Dudley thought briefly how she had cooked a whole turkey, and even set a place for Vernon. She cried throughout dinner, and when Harry opened his present with the invisibility cloak inside, she gave a shrill shriek and ran upstairs to lock herself in her bedroom.

"Like mother like son," Dudley had muttered, and it was the only laugh he and Harry had shared since the letter had arrived.

_It's strange,_ Dudley had thought then, _how lives could be so complex, sad, and yet there was still a time to laugh._

"Dudley, at least come to the station to see me off."

"I am," Dudley said, a little surprised at himself, and then remembered that this was the reason he had gotten dressed in the first place. He walked to the door, put on his 'game face', and opened it.

**8**

The trip to the station was undeniably tense. If anything, this silence was thicker than when Vernon was driving to the hut on the rock.

Dudley had sat in the backseat with Harry as always, but their conversation was short and strained. Several times they each tried to start some discussion, and even Petunia tried, though no one was fooled that their attempts were, for now, in vain. Eventually, Petunia turned the radio on, but even the rhythmic tones of Jonathan Dimbleby couldn't drown out the silence.

In the station, the mood was no better than during the drive. Petunia had stayed in the car, her hands firmly griping the steering wheel, while Dudley helped Harry with his bags to the 9 ¾ crossing.

Dudley refused to go through the crossing with him, which Harry, at least, seemed to understand. The press would be out for Dudley's blood like sharks in a swimming pool, for being named an Unreliable by the Minster of Magic.

"So," Harry said, as they stood in front of the entrance.

"So," Dudley agreed.

"You'll figure this out, Dudley. Hermione's already looking into it. You know her, she'll find something, and you'll be back at Hogwarts in no time." Harry smiled encouragingly, and even placed his hand on Dudley's shoulder for support.

Dudley forced a smile, and struggled desperately not to shrug Harry's hand off in a fit of tension-induced anger. _He has hope,_ he thought, and in his mind he gritted his teeth._ I should let him believe in some sort of justice. _

He placed his hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will, Harry. I'll figure this out. But promise me something."

"Promise you what?" Harry dropped his hand from his shoulder.

Dudley reached out with both arms, and practically strangled his cousin in a hug.

"Promise me that you're going to be brilliant, and that you won't go looking for trouble."

"Urgh… Okay, okay! I promise." Harry laughed. "I need to go…the train."

"Okay, okay."

Dudley laughed, too, and put Harry down. He gave him a presidential salute, which Harry, with an eyebrow slightly raised, returned, before stepping into the platform. Dudley held the salute until Harry had completely disappeared through the wall of the platform, and whispered under his breath, in a half prayer, before turning away.

"Be fucking awesome, Harry."

8

"Was he…okay?"

Dudley eyed Petunia from the passenger's seat. Her eyes were firmly pointed on the road in front of her.

It was odd to hear Petunia talk, as they very rarely exchanged words at the best of times (although, now that Dudley thought about it, when they did talk, Harry was always somehow involved).

"He…will be. He'll miss me, but he'll be stronger because of it." _I hope._

"Are you, okay?" She never took her eyes off the road.

Dudley sat back in his seat, thinking it over. "No, and I don't think I will be for a long time. Maybe, eventually…once I have my wand back…maybe then."

"Magic," Petunia huffed. "Its-"

"Not the cause of the problem this time, mother." Dudley crossed his arms and squeezed his left bicep. "I am! I should have been more careful; I should have paid closer…attention or…or something. If I weren't so pig-headed, none of this would have happened.

"No, it would have." He quickly corrected himself. "If I'd only killed that fucking little rat when I had the chanc-"

"Dudley!" Petunia swerved the car in shock. "Don't use that language. If your father heard you speak like that, he would-"

The car was rocked again with silence.

"He'll be back, you know," Dudley finally said, unfolding his arms. "You two are meant for each other." _And no-one in their right mind is gonna want to date that mess of a man._

"Th-thank you, Diddums." Petunia swallowed. "That's really sweet of you."

"Yeah, well, I mean it. If he's not dead, he'll be crawling back to you in no time."

"Dudley, don't say such things. He fine, he just needs time. You've put a lot of pressure on us with all of this business. It's really worn us down…even I… It's been difficult, sweetheart. But now, with you out of _that_ place, and the boy away, maybe…maybe we can start being a family again."

She gave him a pleading, and almost grimacing look. Dudley frowned at it, as he felt sympathetic towards her, but her speech corrupted the feeling. It was like having sympathy for Hitler.

"Yes, mother."

8

It had gotten colder in the house now that Harry had left. A week went by, then two, with still no word from Vernon, and only water-cooler conversations from Petunia whenever Harry, Hermione and Seamus sent him owls and books from the library.

Still, Dudley felt his research had come to a slow trickle, as he became less and less inspired by the sterile conditions of Privet Drive. He needed magic-rich environments, and a wand to further his ideas, but here he had neither. He had started to look at the books on spell-craft and enchantments to spark some kind of wonder, however, he quickly grew frustrated at not being able to test anything, as the best he could do was practise wand work with a stick he'd found in the snow. It was something at least.

He had much better luck with potions, with the 'science' behind it. Although often backwards, it worked quite well, and the idea that chemical formations changed when interacted with a magical presence was very intriguing. The main problem, though, was that any of the more effective or fascinating potions relied on magically potent ingredients, wand-work and containers, than what Dudley was able to get a hand on in the Muggle world, even with Harry's help.

He had taken up walking around the house and finding any excuse to get out of it. However, it bothered him that there was always someone (Auror or not) on watch when he went out.

It wasn't as if they were exactly secret about it either. In fact, they were often blatantly lazy about it. From his window now, Dudley could see a wizard sitting in a broken down car with 4 flat tyres, reading a Daily Prophet in broad daylight, and the wizard in question hadn't even turned the moving picture charms off.

How Harry had never managed to spot these guys in the book was astounding.

Well, at least Harry was safe at Hogwarts for now, with no Stone or Quidditch to worry about, and he only had exams to think of. He could do that easily with Hermione's help, and even if he didn't, he _was _Harry _freakin _Potter. No one was about to suggest kicking _him _out. Dudley, on the other hand, was a whole different story, judging by the Prophet.

Dudley still had the newspaper issue with Harry crossing the platform 9 ¾, onto the wizards' side, with the caption, _The Boy Who Lived arrives, but where is the Thunderously Unreliable Companion, _underneath. Harry was pushing through the crowd in the picture with his luggage, as he hurried to the wasn't even a very good picture, and plus the press already knew that he hadn't been coming back to Hogwarts, so it seemed like a useless article.

Or rather, it would have been if it weren't for the poll next to it, '_Should_ _the Thunder Thrower be allowed back to Hogwarts after being made Unreliable? 67% of wizards we asked said Yes. _

There waspicture of him talking as he got off the Hogwarts express, with the word 'Unreliable' printed in bold black letters across it.

"Nobs," Dudley muttered to no-one in particular. With Harry, and anyone Dudley thought of as underage, not around, he'd gone back to randomly swearing, as he used to before the life switch over.

"Shit," he said, putting a book down and rolling out of his bed. The room was beginning to look like the insane asylums he'd seen on TV, with pages and pages of paper stuck to the walls, coloured pins, and little bits of red and green string physically holding his ideas together.

He smiled, magic books were blocked from copying with the use of plagiarism charms, but they could still be photocopied. It had been a good day when he had figured that out. The local library had to put in four extra ink orders after he'd finished a two day photocopying spree.

He paused at his door, surveying it all, and then decided that he _really_ wanted a cup of tea.

The walk to the kitchen was as monotonous as brushing ones teeth, which was just as depressing, considering that it was the highlight of his day so far.

He pulled a large white mug from the cupboard and dropped a tea bag in it. As he started to fill the kettle, he paused.

"Mum!

"Yes, Diddums?" Petunia's clipped tone came from somewhere in the lounge.

"Do you fancy a cup of tea?"

"No, thank you, dear."

Dudley dropped the kettle on the hob and flicked the switch. He waited for the water to boil and stared at the snout, watching for the steam. When the tin kettle began to whistle, he took it off the heat and poured the water into his cup. After he stirred the teabag in, and pressed it up against the side of the mug with the back of his spoon, he went to the fridge for some milk. He opened the fridge, and then, with a look of contempt, slammed the door, rocking the large white obelisk with the force. He swore under his breath.

"Of course, there's no fucking milk!"

He stormed out the kitchen, and pulled a coat off the rack in the hall, and angrily put it on.

"I'm going to the shop!" he yelled into the house, and yanked the door close until the lock clicked. It was freezing, the snow had cleared but it had been replaced with a bitter wind.

He hurried down the drive, throwing the hood of the coat over his head, and briskly set off towards the direction of the closest shop, which, even at a run, was 30 minutes away.

He huffed, and began his trek. Had he not been in such a hurry, Dudley might have noticed that the wizard in the car was no longer reading the newspaper, and that now his face was rested on the steering wheel, his eyes staring unfocused and empty at Number 5.

8

The shop, as Dudley expected, was pretty empty. It was at the end of the day, between the hours of when people got home from work, and when they finished their dinner in front of the telly.

Dudley spotted fewer than 5 people walking around the aisles, as he hunted for milk. They had, for the fourth week in a row, switched everything around. What was supposed to be a 1 minute job became 5 minutes. His eyes darted around the shop, taking everything in. At last he found the milk section, the price of which had gone up by 10p for no apparent reason.

He stabbed his hand into the refrigerator and grabbed the green cap.

Suddenly, a great CLACK sound filled the shop, and his hand froze around the neck of the milk bottle. One by one, the overhead lights began to flicker and fizzle out, plunging the shop, aisle by aisle, into darkness.

Dudley turned to face the approaching darkness, milk still in hand.

"Fuck."


	24. The Message

**Thanks to Storyseeker and all of those who made it this far ;)**

**The Message **

For two heartbeats, everything was black in the shop, with the small exception of the eerie dim glow radiating off the fridges. A few people in the shop gasped in shock, or muttered to themselves in questioning tones.

Dudley loosened his grip on the milk bottle, and put it back in the cooling unit, testing himself. He found he wasn't scared exactly, and he couldn't deny the slight thrill of panic trailing up his spine. He bit his top lip, and moved smoothly into the dark aisle, away from the glow of the fridge. He lost the element of stealth, however, as an old woman shouted out, her voice shaky with that vulnerable tone taken on by people when faced with a gang.

"Has there been a blackout?!" Her voice rattled with a strong sense of helplessness.

Dudley stared into the darkness, straining his eyes and ears. There were people here. _If they got hurt because of me, that-that wouldn't be…_Dudley couldn't come up with a word to express the feeling, but the closest he could come up with was _fair_, but that didn't quite fit. He wished desperately that it were a blackout, or anything other than what it most certainly was.

"Mayb-" A brilliant green flash exploded in the dark, and the woman's voice was cut unnaturally short.

Dudley's stomach plummeted, and he dropped to the floor like a solider would to gunfire. _What- they didn't just- what?!_

The world around Dudley shrank. They had killed someone! Whoever it was had just killed someone in cold blood._ Wait, maybe they're not dead, maybe they want me to think they killed someone, drive me out in the open like Harry would. This is book one no one dies in book one but Quirrell!_

Dudley stretched his sight as far as it could go, trying to find shapes in the black. His blood began rushing through him, annoyingly pulsing in his ears, as he tried to capture sound.

At the light, the shop was plunged into silence and confusion. Dudley could hear people, agitated but docile, in the darkness. _Move you morons!_ he screamed in his head. _Run!_

He didn't know who he was screaming the last part for, whether it was for his legs, his brain or the people still in the shop. _Move!_

"RUN!" Dudley finally screamed out loud into the blackness. He jumped and began running, and dived into the closest aisle, pressing his back against some cans. At once a voice, impossibly loud, answered Dudley's call.

"KILL THE FILTH! FIND THE BOY!"

Chaos erupted in the darkness like a bomb dropping. The air in Dudley's lungs turned to stone, as people were suddenly screaming, with bright lights popping into life in the darkness, green, red, purple and blue flashes jumping around the shop, coming closer and closer, and more screams being cut unnaturally short.

_Think, think, think. _He heard footsteps at the end of his aisle, and Dudley rolled behind the side of the shelves, his hand brushing against fresh bread. He covered his mouth with his hand, trying to muffle his breathing. _Think!_

He turned his head up, as his ears caught a buzzing above, and he glanced towards. There were footsteps, and the sound of dragging. Dudley found a small red LED glowing in the ocean of black. _What was it?_

The time between splashes of multi-coloured spell light_s_ was growing longer.

His mind burned, and his eyes widened. _Cameras? Cameras need an office! Where?_ His eyes darted around, not seeing anything, as he ran through the shop in his memory, looking, searching for an office. _I must have been here a hundred times,_ _think where, where, where…there! The office._ The footsteps had come so close that Dudley could have brought his hand out and grabbed its leg.

A slurred but familiar sound came from whatever or whoever the thing was dragging. "Yeeer wont gerrt em, hess too smarrt for you."

Dudley took this chance, took a deep silent breath, and turned down to the other side of the aisle, sneaking as fast and quietly as he could. He headed towards the front of the shop, and heard a man reply to the slurred sound.

"He's a mud-blood and a child, and he-"

Dudley didn't hear the rest, as he'd reached the end of the aisle and the front of the shop, which wasn't bad considering he'd been working from memory, and had been running blindly in the dark. He pulled something off the shelf behind him, and threw it towards the other side of the shop.

"The door, he's heading for the door!" a woman shouted.

_No, I'm not._ Dudley allowed himself a smirk. He half ran, half crawled until his hand hit a wall. He could see them now, two wizards and a witch at the exit, lit up by two streetlights outside. He dropped his back to the wall, feeling out for wood or glass. _There_! _Find the handle!_ The door was already slightly propped open, so he took another step, and his foot stood on something soft and squishy.

He'd done this before, and he knew exactly what the soft squishy thing under his foot was, but this time it didn't make a noise. Dudley bit into his lip again, as he gently took his foot off what he suspected was an arm.

He tried pushing himself into the dark room, but the door wouldn't move, as the body was gripping the bottom of the door, keeping it closed. _Sorry,_ Dudley whispered in his mind, as he kicked the body away from the door and forced himself through the gap and the doorframe. Once he was in the room, he pushed the door gently shut, which thankfully didn't creek, and he took the deepest breath that he could remember, and stood to his full height. He let the air out slowly, and turned to the room.

The office room wasn't as dark as the rest of the shop, as the light of several TV screens lit it well enough for him to make out much of its contents. It was a small office, one room with two long lockers in the right corner, a table and a very low set chair pointed towards the monitors. The monitor screens were old, old even for the 90s, and stacked on top of one another in rows of two, and there was a silver tanoy microphone in-between the bottom monitors.

Dudley walked toward them, being careful to quieten his steps. He shocked himself into a standstill, as his eyes took in the monitors; from the cameras the screens showed that there were in fact only 3 wizards and 1, 2, 3… Dudley squeezed his eyes and forced himself to count… 4, 5 , 6, 7, 8.

8 bodies. _Lives that had just- No, don't think about them, not yet...think, think, thin-_

Dudley's thoughts were interrupted, as he saw two of the three wizards drag in a large ball into the aisle…then he realised what it really was. He hissed, as he realised why the slurred voice had sounded so familiar now.

"Damn it, Vernon."

8

Dudley pulled the chair closer to the screen, and rested his chin in his hands. The wizards were still searching around the shop.

"Bet you wish you hadn't turned out the lights now, mother-fuckers," he grumbled under his breath.

They started heading back to who he assumed was their leader. He hadn't left Vernon's side yet.

Dudley flicked his eyes back to Vernon. The picture was blurry and the resolution terrible, but he could see the three of them standing around Vernon now, light dimly emitting from their wands. Most of them, except for one who looked frustrated, looked pleased with themselves, as the smaller of the men looked like he was laughing. The tallest man turned on him and said something, and then the small one stop laughing. The woman was silent, and never let her wand drop.

The tallest man then placed the tip of his wand to his throat, and his voice, a gruff sound, filled the shop. Even through the door, Dudley could hear it as clearly as if the man was standing right next to him.

"Where are you, Dudley? We know you're still here, hiding." The man held something out in front of him; all Dudley could make out was that it was small wooden box with a dome on its top. _A compass maybe? Not a good one if they can't find me._

"We have your father, Dudley. Would you like to say hello?"

The man pointed to Vernon's throat, and the large man cowered. Dudley had to turn his head not to look at the screen.

"D-D-Dudley, it's daddy. Sson, th-these frea-men, they say they w-won't huurt us if we do as they say. Please, Dudl-"

Dudley shot his head to the screen at the sudden cutting off Vernon's voice, fearful of the worst. But the tall man had simply taken his wand away from Vernon's neck.

"Come out, Dudley, and no harm will come to you," the small man said, brightening the light on his wand, and took something off his finger. He held it out, showing it off before putting it back on.

The tall man smiled. "We even have a present for you."

"You know what it is, don't you? We hear that you are such a clever boy-"

Dudley did expect that he would know what it was if he could see it, but the screens were too blurry to make out anything other than that it was probably a ring, seeing as it had just come of the man's finger.

His mind jumped for a second. _It couldn't possibly be the Philosopher's Stone, _he reassured himself. _So what is it…a present, something I want then-what do I want- Where the hell are all the Aurors?! _And then he knew what it was, just as the tall man began to speak.

"It's a little trinket; what we like to call a Blocking Band. I don't think I have to explain what it does do I, no? We'll give it to you for free if you come with us."

The woman then jabbed her wand into Vernon's shoulder. Even in the soft images of the monitors, the pain of whatever she was doing was evident. Dudley glared at the screen, rage overpowering, and he grabbed the microphone and switched it on.

"AWFULLY CONVENIENT-" Dudley's voice boomed through the tanoy system

Dudley's eyes widened in a moment of triumph, as all three sorcerers jumped back in shock. Their heads swivelled. and their wands waved in the darkness. It was only a guess, but it looked to him that they didn't know about the tanoy. _Which,_ he hoped, _means they probably don't know about the cameras_. If they had, they wouldn't have left them on when they blacked out the building. _USE THIS,_ every part of him yelled_. Use this!_

"Awfully convenient. Blocks the Trance, does it, that little ring? Is it the reason why the Aurors aren't here yet? I expect the one outside my house is dead, is he? Yes, I thought so." Dudley felt a ping of sadness, but he squashed it, as now wasn't the time for emotion, now was the time for intimidation. "Will you get paid for this little murdering spree? Oh- I'm sorry, I didn't catch your names."

_Keep them talking and confused, wait for help, and think. _The wizards and witch looked at each over, and he could make out their expressions, yet it was obvious this wasn't part of their plan. Dudley was supposed to be afraid (and he was, as he was practically pissing himself), but he didn't sound it. That was important. He didn't have to pretend to be a kid wizard now; he had to be unnerving, fearless and smart_. I'm a soldier in a war, and these men are trying to kill me._ What had he told Harry that time; the best way to get rid of a threat-

"Is to eliminate it," he whispered to himself, and repeated it over and over. His mind came alive with possibilities, his eyes darting to each screen, searching for something, ignoring the bodies, and looking…for weapons. He stood up from the chair, half-listening to the man with one eye on the screen, as he opened the lockers.

"Well, it looks like you are as clever as they say, Dudley. The band does block the trance, and we've warded this whole building, so if you were planning on luring the Aurors here by using magic, they won't come. We'll make it easy for you, so come out from wherever you are, come with us, and we'll let your daddy go."

Dudley pulled out a half used ring of collotype, a small plastic pack of cable ties, and what he first had confused as a brick, but was actually a walkie talkie. As he watched the screens, the man suddenly took his wand from his throat, pointed his wand down one of the empty aisles, and then back to his own throat.

"Did you hear what I said Dudley? We have already put a barrier in place, so they won't come. No one is coming. You are alone."

Dudley smiled, and sat back into the chair. "Oh no, I'm never alone, and you never answered my question. What's your name?"

The tall man turned to the other two, before answering, "My name is Markus."

"Markus! No, no, no, that won't do… Mark. I'm going to call you Mark." Dudley fluttered his eyes, his mind racing with the plan he'd just formulated in his head.

"Listen very closely, Mark. I'm going to end you, that's a fact. The sky is blue, and I'm going to end you. Not like these innocent people you so sloppily dropped. What I'm going to do is much, much more painful."

All three of the wizards raised their wands.

"Don't worry, Mark. I'm actually going to kill you last. First, I'm going to kill that woman with you. She looks troublesome, so yes, I think she'll be the first to go. Then I'll kill the little lad on your left. I'm not going to lie, little guy, as it's going to hurt a lot, and it's going to be slllloooow. For you, Mark, I'm going to beat you to your knees, and then I'm going to shove your wand down your dick whole, and burn you from the inside out. But not before I disembowel you first, you sick fuck!"

He was ready, or at least he hoped so. "However, I am feeling generous, so here's the deal. You let my father go, and we can avoid all of that horrible business. What do you say?"

"Where are you?!" That wasn't the tall one named Markus, but the smaller one.

"Do we have a deal, Mark?"

There was a pause, and the tall one slightly lowered his arm, as if weighing his options, but then he brought it back.

"Very well," Dudley said, and brought the microphone to the walkie-talkie, and cell taped them together.

The resulting screaming from the feedback was ear piercing. The wizards jammed their fingers in their ears, as Dudley grabbed the cable cord and ran out of the office. He ran as fast as he could, trying to avoid the lights that the wizards were shining down the shopping aisles. They were yelling at each other, but the sound over the tanoy was too loud to hear over.

Dudley was almost completely blind, as he reached the other side of the shop without the lights from the wizards. He had to count the shelves as he ran past them.

He dropped into the home supplies, and rummaged the shelves, feeling for Air-freshener canisters, until he found them, and pulled two off the shelf. Now, he need toiletries.

He ran back down the aisle, and almost fell on a body at the end of the aisle. Before he could stop his mind, he placed the body of a young teen that he'd seen on the monitors, a boy lying face down. He hoped that it wasn't one of the boys that he used to do paper-round with.

Dudley turned a sharp right into the next aisle, which was the second from the end of the dark part of the shop. He felt around with his one free hand, the other clutching the Air-fresheners against his ribs, his ears ringing from the scream of the tanoy, which was sending a constant drill into his ears. His hand found a bottle, which he pulled off the shelf and uncapped it. The smell of ammonia rose from the bottle, and Dudley smiled to himself, as now all he needed was bleach. He reached around again until he found a heavier bottle. The lid was harder to pop, but the sound of the safety cap was lost in the tanoy. Bleach!

Dudley carried both bottles to the end of the aisle, where he could see the sorcerers. The small one looked outraged, as he was screaming at the tall one, while Vernon was on the ground, and the woman had her hands over her ears. Suddenly, the tall one pointed his wand to the ceiling, his face crimson. A bolt of what looked like purple lightning erupted from his wand, and slammed into the ceiling, spreading across the whole shop in an undeniably beautiful display of plasma. The torture of the tanoy stopped in a burst of sparks from the speakers and cameras, but Dudley's ears were still ringing with its screams, so, with any luck, so were theirs.

"You're good at magic, now let's see how you fair at chemical warfare, you dick-sacks!" he yelled, and locked the two cable ties over the triggers of each of the Air-fresheners. He took a deep breath of clean air, and began his assault.

Like pulling the clip of a grenade, Dudley yanked the tail of one of the cable ties and, with all his strength, lobbed it at the group, purposely kicking over the uncapped bottles of ammonia and bleach. In a moment of dread, he locked eyes with the woman, who had what Dudley could only describe as an instant of 'bullet time', when her eyes saw the canister flying through the air in a citrus and lemon cloud, and drew her wand.

In a flash of yellowish-pink light, the canister landed in-between her and the two wizards. She caught Dudley's eye again, and he had just enough time to smirk before the canister exploded. Without hesitation, and without taking a breath, he pulled the trigger of the second canister and threw it towards them, and then back-peddled to the back of the shop, facing the massive white cloud of air-freshener. Coughing and gagging sounds filled the air, and then out from Dudley's side of the cloud, choking and gasping their lungs for air, the woman and the small man hobbled out.

Dudley smiled, taking care to keep his mouth shut, and clapped his hands loud enough to get their attention. The small one, his eyes bloodshot, tightened his hand on his wand, the light sparking almost strobing as he coughed. He pulled the woman with him and swore.

"You're…gonna…dei-die, lit-lte p-i-ggy." He sucked in the air, and Dudley stood perfectly still, his heart hamming and his own lungs begging for breath. The man took another step forward, his foot splashing something beneath him.

"You…" The man stopped, his eyes bulging out of his head, his mouth gasping for air.

"You know what happens when you mix bleach and ammonia?" Dudley turned his head and walked sideways down the wine aisle, last on the row.

"It's a little concoction we Muggles like to call… Chorine Gas!"

The small man's body began to flop, as his wand fell from his hand, and the woman dropped from his side like a dog on ceramic, choking and gasping on the gas. The man fell face down, his wand rolling from his hand, the strobing light slowing down and then fading away completely, to black.

Dudley took his pace from a walk to a run, and ran the long way round. He could still hear coughing, Markus and Vernon, and the cloud was still lit with the light of Markus's wand. Then, in a whipping mention, the cloud sank to the ground and disappeared.

Dudley ran harder, his footsteps loudly echoing.

"_Mortusariovo!" _

Dudley foot didn't touch the ground, as he was abruptly pulled through the air, tumbling in a vicious whirlwind, crashing and smashing into the shelves, as he was helplessly spun towards the tall wizard. He smashed into the wall, help up from the ground, with small blood-shot, dark eyes and large teeth staring up at him with such ugly _rage_.

"You're coming with _me!"_ spit was flung in Dudley's face, and blood dripped from his nose and mouth. He must have smashed his face when he was tumbling. Dudley spat blood in the dark wizard's face, unable to make words.

Markus made a noise, and a hand flew from his side. He grabbed Dudley's hand, and forced a silver ring on his finger. He then took hold of Dudley's neck, crushing his windpipe, and raised his wand up high. Dudley's head dropped, as sparks started filling most of his vision. _Shit, _he thought. _Harry, I'm sorr-_

"Say goodbye to-"

What happened next took Dudley almost as completely by surprise as it did Markus. A black leather belt seemed to fall from the sky between them, and Markus disappeared out of sight. For a second, Dudley floated against the wall, his eyes agog. He had just enough time to think, _Did he just Apparate_, when he fell painfully on his feet, and then on his arse. He felt something roll onto his side, and he dumbly realised that it was a wand. Without waiting a second, he grabbed it and held it in front of him.

"Lumos!" Dudley tilted his head, and then what he saw all came into view.

"Not my son, you freak!"

Vernon Dursley, a Muggle, beaten and tortured by wizards for weeks, was choking the shit out of his kidnapper with his belt for trying to kidnap his son.

Dudley would never ever feel more respect for this man, his would be father, any more than what he felt at that moment. "Get him, dad!"


	25. Confessions

_**Thanks storyseeker for the betaing :) and thank you awesome people for reviewing**_

**Confessions **

Dudley turned the light of the wand down, and pointed it under his chin to cast the healing charm that he had used on Harry in the dungeon. The help was mild considering his injuries, but thank Merlin they were inflicted by physical means and not magical. He could already feel the other parts of him begin to heal by themselves, though it did little for the overall hurt, and something moving inside his left side around his ribs put out an awful pain. He would have to see a Healer.

Even under the diminished light of the healing charm, Dudley could still make out Markus and Vernon. It was as much fighting as stepping on an ant was. Markus may have been a formidable wizard, and Dudley had the bruises to prove it, however, just like the other two wizards had shown, completely useless in a muggle arena. Vernon was a strong man; he had to be to carry his weight. Markus was not, and Dudley bet the reliance on wand waving had made him physically weak.

But Vernon's largeness also gave the muggle man a second advantage; with Markus flailing on Vernon's belly, as Vernon strangling him with his belt, Markus's feet, even as a fairly tall fellow, couldn't touch the ground, and his arms couldn't reach far enough around to challenge Vernon's attack. The struggle would have been quite a humorous sight, had the situation been anything other than what it was.

Dudley couldn't help admit that there was even something oddly humbling about watching what was essentially a 'predator' being bested by its 'prey'.

However, he also recognised the need to find out who these people were, although he had a pretty good idea (Mr Crow had mentioned assassins after all). So, unfortunately, the struggle between the muggle and the wizard would need to end so that Dudley could try and get some information.

He brought the wand round to the two men again, and opened his mouth to speak when…his eyes caught a distant figure behind the men. At first glance, it was a jumble of cotton and windbreaker, but a closer inspection brought out the face of an elderly woman, her head tilted and resting at an unnatural angle under the hood of her coat, her blank eyes and expression forever locked in fear.

"_Is it a blackout?"_ Dudley could place the voice now, and it put a hole in his stomach. He stood up, and his eyes once again re-adjusted to meet those of Markus. The wizards' beady eyes were almost popping out because of the pressure, and his look at Dudley was silent desperation, his face still caked with Dudley's bloody spit.

Dudley stared down into his face…and turned away.

He pointed the wand down the aisle where the small man and the woman lay, and with a flick of the wand a small flame appeared at its tip. Dudley dared not step any closer for fear of the gas.

With a deep breath, he brought the flame to his lips and blew. Fire erupted in a narrow pillar, and devoured the bodies in a rain of multi-coloured flames. This spell was too simple for a weapon, as it lacked a certain emotional drive to really retain any destructive properties, in fact it had be devised as an entertainment spell for wizarding jesters in the middle-ages, but Dudley liked finding new uses for old things, and fire was fire.

When he turned back to Vernon, Markus was…no more, as his body lay in a puddle of black robes. Vernon was in a state not much better, but at least he was breathing, which was pretty good considering the rest of the shops cohort.

Dudley walked over and knelt beside the body of the dead wizard, and, setting his mind away from the idea of handling a dead human, he patted the man down, and looked for anything useful.

Markus held very little in his pockets besides the box he had seen him holding earlier, a key on a chain (presumably for his vault), a pouch full of coins and a rolled up piece of parchment. Interestingly, or perhaps oddly, he had a black onyx bracelet around his upper arm, and a box with a glass dome. He took them both, and put them in his coat pocket with the rest of the items, and went to see to Vernon.

Up closer it was clear that Vernon Dursley had endured something borderline horrific. He was still in the suit he had worn to the Grunning's Christmas party weeks ago, except the suit was now torn, frayed, and in some places scorched.

_It must have taken a lot out of him for to…_ Dudley once again set his mind, and slowly brought the wand towards Vernon.

"I going to try and help you, Dad. Close your eyes and I'll-" Vernon reached out and grabbed Dudley's wand-less hand, and squeezed it tightly, giving him a look that caught Dudley in his throat.

"Ar-are you al-right, D-Dudley?" Vernon's voice was shallow and broken with heavy breathing, but he forced himself to speak. "D-did they hurt you?!"

"I-I-" the words couldn't form in Dudley's mouth. The thought struck him like a stick in the face. Vernon cared about _him_, Vernon cared for him _over _himself. This realisation left Dudley speechless, and in a shocking moment of clarity it dawned on him that Vernon Dursley was a better father than his own. His body sent warm prickles and cold chills over his skin at the same time.

"Yes, I'm…a little bruised, but I'll be okay, dad." The word felt different in Dudley's mouth. "I'm more worried about you. I going to use-I'm going to help. Close your eyes if you don't want to see."

Vernon did close his eyes, but not before his beetroot face smoothed itself with a look of relief, and he released Dudley's hand. Perhaps he was too tired to argue, or fight, but he allowed Dudley to use the healing spell. The effect wasn't great, but the spell itself wasn't all that powerful to begin with. At least it would relieve some of the pain that Vernon must have been feeling.

"Come on, dad." Dudley placed his arm around the man's huge shoulders and pulled him to a standing position. "We need to get out of here, take you home and to a hospital or something."

The 'or something' being St Mungos. Dudley tightened his grip on the wand, wondering what those bastards had done to him. _Why had they kept him so long?_ But he couldn't ponder on that now. Trying propped up Vernon on his good side and sustaining the light on the tip of his wand, was too taxing to add _thinking _to the mix.

He laid a still panting Vernon on the ground outside the shop, and looked down at him with something akin to admiration. _A Muggle killing a wizard…totally unheard of…_ Another look washed over Dudley's face then, as he twisted the wand in his hand ever so slightly, and headed back into the shop.

He cast the fire charm again, and this time with a blunt determination to set the shop ablaze. If someone asked, an Auror, Dumbledore or even Harry, he would lie and say it was the wizards, that one of them lost control of a fire spell. _A Muggle killing a wizard,_ he thought again. If anyone found out, Vernon would be hunted down, or others made to pay as an example. It might not happen, but in Dudley's mind it could and would_…They must never know._

The shop was burning, the bodies inside burning with it, as Dudley headed out the doors, smoke bellowing out behind him.

He glanced at Vernon, and Vernon held his gaze. Dudley opened his mouth to explain, but then something incredibly odd in the parking lot caught his eye.

"Is that a _Ferrari Mondial_?! Who the fuck drives a _Ferrari Mondial_ to go shopping?"

8

The drive back to Privet Drive was a short, smooth, if not hasty one. _And why not,_ Dudley thought, as he pressed down on the accelerator, _there are dark wizards about._

"Slow down!" Vernon coughed loudly in alarm, hands digging into the leather armrests. "You're going too fas-"

"Slow down?! It's a sports car, it has two modes fast and stop!" The drive was a much welcome distraction from what had just happened. In fact, it felt a million miles away, and although Vernon was pale, it wasn't the same shade as in the shop.

"Speaking of which." Dudley slowed down, regrettably, to a screeching stop in front of number six. "We're here… Comm'on, Dad."

Dudley's hand found the handle, before he paused and then opened the door. He jogged around to Vernon's side, opened the door and helped him out of the car. The nagging pain from lifting Vernon, as well as the clunking feeling that Dudley had in his side, reminded him that something probably hadn't healed right inside him. He'd need to get that fixed.

The load on his shoulders suddenly lessened.

"What happened?! Oh dear, oh no. It was _them,_ wasn't it! oh no, Vernon, Dudley. Quickly, into the house." Petunia, alerted from the screeching of the car, must have seen them from the driveway. She was now under the other arm of Vernon, and carrying him into the house, fear and worry bubbling in her eyes like water in an overheated kettle.

"Damn it! I forgot the bloody milk!" Dudley muttered furiously to himself, but if Petunia or Vernon found it funny, then they made no indication.

Inside the house, everything seemed to become much more _real _again, which was only amplified by the pain in Dudley's side. The Aurors would be there soon, though it was a surprise that they weren't there already. It was a total travesty that they weren't!

Vernon was slummed on the couch with Petunia, who was sobbing uncontrollably. She sent Dudley to his room, he ignored her and headed towards the kitchen.

He hesitated, and then swiftly he picked up the phone from the hanger on the wall. He paused again, rubbed his hand down his face as if stroking an invisible beard, and then pressed 3 on the dial. The phone rang four times, until finally…

"Figg residence." The voice was clipped, and sounded nothing like Mrs. Figg normally sounded. It was a true 1960s telephone operator type of sound, the calmness of which momentary stunning Dudley's thoughts. "Are you calling about the cats?"

"Cats…" Dudley muttered, and then he became angry. "It's Dudley Dursley, Mrs. Figg. I need you to Floo Dumbledore immediately. There's been an incident, people have died, my dad…my dad's hurt, and-and I need to talk to him, him personally, please! Bring Pomfrey, too! Please."

Three seconds went by before Mrs. Figg answered meekly. "Dumbledore?"

"Mrs. Figg, did you hear me?! People have died, get him here, _now_!" There was another pause.

"Okay, hold on." There was a clunk on the other end, as Mrs. Figg put the phone off the hook.

"Thank you." Dudley let out a huge sigh into the receiver, a slight stab of pain catching the top of his breath. "Thank you go-Merlin, whoever."

Dudley counted 4 full minute before Mrs. Figg picked up the phone again. "He's coming. He'll be there as fast as he can, you can be sure of it. Are you alright, Dudley?"

"No," Dudley said hesitantly, as he opened the drawer in front of him and placed the wand inside, under a dish. He winced, as he shut it. "Yeah, I guess. Dad's worse, much…they tortured him."

"Who did?"

"I don't know, but he's in a bad way." A pop echoed outside, and he put the phone down and peered out the window, as one by one, up and down the road, the street lamps turned off. "He's here, Mrs. Figg. I'll call you later. Thank you."

He didn't give her time to reply, and hung up the phone. There were four more pops outside before he could reach the door, and he opened it without checking.

Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey were standing at the door, along with three rather official looking people behind them who were looking perplexed as to why the headmaster of Hogwarts was there before them.

"Dudley-" Dumbledore started, his cheery demur clouded by a deepened tone and brow.

"In here, quickly, Professor. Madam Pomfrey, my dad's in there." Dudley pointed to the door next the kitchen. He tried to look earnest and calm as possible, trying steel himself. "Professor, could you come upstairs with me? There-there's things that we need to discuss."

He held the door open for Madam Pomfrey, who gave him a stern but sympathetic look, as she waddled in with her apron. Dumbledore's face relaxed somewhat, as he offered a polite smile as he stepped into the house. Dudley brushed past his purple robes, glaring hatefully at the other three wizards at the end of the garden.

"You're too late. Your man's dead," he snarled, as he pointed in the direction of the shop. "along with eight innocent muggles. Where the fuck were you?!" with that he slammed the door.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to follow it to its owner. Dumbledore stared down at him over his glasses, an apologetic looked tampered regret falling through his gaze like a shiny penny down a deep and dark well. Dudley felt it land somewhere in his gut.

"Harry's room," he muttered, tilting his head down, and made a B line around the old wizard, up the stairs. Dudley regarded him again from the top of the stairs. Dumbledore was a brightly coloured flower in a grey room in the Dursley house, uniquely out of place. He also noticed Dumbledore's blue eyes drink in the pictures on the staircase, as he came to the landing.

Dumbledore's eyes lingered on a picture of Harry bent over the handlebars of Dudley's bike. Harry was laughing, as Dudley squeezed him from behind. It was the best picture Dudley had of them together; it had been taken by a neighbour during Dudley's newpaper delivery days, not long after the incident at the Zoo. Convincing Petunia to put it in a frame had been a nightmare.

Dumbledore smiled fondly at the picture, until he met Dumbledore on the landing.

Dudley led the old wizard into Harry's room, as his own was stuffed with papers and books that he'd rather prefer the man not to see. He offered the headmaster a space on the lumpy but nicely made bed, closing and locking the door behind him.

As he stood in front of Dumbledore, he lifted himself to the empty top of Harry's dresser. The air in the room felt thick, he licked his lips.

"You might want to cast a silencer for this one."

"I already have," Dumbledore said, waving his hand theatrically correcting the sleeves of his robe. "Do you mind, before you begin…"

"Mrs. Figg?"

"Yes."

"Kneazles."

"Ah." He chuckled. "Mr Crow is right about you. Very attentive."

"I don't want to talk about Mr Crow," Dudley huffed and mumbled. "Professor, I believe…I know that-" He sucked the air into his lungs, painfully pushing on whatever was wrongly adjusted inside him, and let his words fly, hoping that if he said them with enough speed he wouldn't have to confront them.

"Peter Pettigrew is alive, and I think Sirius Black might be innocent."

Dumbledore's eyes widened, making the blue of his eye smaller. He reached up to take his hat off and place it gently on the pillow of the bed.

"That," he began, "is a very strong accusation, Dudley. I hope that you can provide proof for such a claim."

"It's a long story, Professor."

Dumbledore inclined his head slightly.

Dudley had been preparing for this moment for a very long time; he had imagined everything from strolling into the great hall and revealing Wormtail in front of everyone, to capturing him and taking the night bus to the ministry. He now pulled what he thought were the best bits of each fabrication, and rolled them together into a story he thought would be both believable and, more importantly, plausible.

"Okay, it all started when I found out about Harry really. This whole thing with Sirius betraying them…err, Harry's parents, and killing all those muggles, and still being alive." He looked at Dumbledore, who nodded, but his face was unreadable. "I was, well I wanted to, you know, get revenge on him, and you know I was in a lot of debt at the time and all, and just… It doesn't matter, but basically I found out Sirius was Harry's godfather, and I came up with this plan to get the Black inheritance through Harry…" Dudley blushed with embarrassment, remembering how angry Harry had been when he discovered his plans. "It was stupid."

"Ah, yes, I heard about this plan of yours. I thought it quite ingenious really, if not a little underhanded for a young Gryffindor."

"Anyway, the plan fell through, with everything else this year, but I did find out something interesting. James Potter was one of four friends, the others being Remus Lupin, Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew." Dudley counted the names on his fingers.

"And you found this out, how?"

"Mr. Filch has all the old detention notes packed away. It wasn't difficult to find them." Dudley checked Dumbledore's face to see if this particular lie had landed. He _knew_ there were documents on James Potter. At least there had been in the books..

The tightness around Dumbledore's eyes lessened, and Dudley, crossing his fingers in his mind, continued.

"Their names cropped up a few times. They were good friends I think, but Sirius and James, they seemed pretty tight, closer than the others, right? They all stayed good friends after school, _and_ during the war?"

"Yes." A light smile touched Dumbledore's lips. "I believe they did."

"Well, I knew that was true for Sirius anyway, cause he was Harry's godfather. It got me thinking, if I was going to make someone my secret keeper…I'd make it my best friend, but then I thought, that's exactly what my enemies would think I would do. So…"

"So you would choose someone who was not a close friend, but someone you trusted just as equally" Dudley could see the cogs in Dumbledore's brain turning, "but not anyone someone would expect. That would be very risky."

"Exactly, it would seem risky, but not to a mischief-making Chaser like James Potter. Think about it; Peter is the secret keeper, but he's also the weak link. Imagine the betrayal. It would drive anyone to unthinkable rage…but only for the one other person that knew of the switch. Sirius goes on a rampage, hunts Peter down, Peter cuts off his own finger, boom, kills a couple of muggles in an explosion, disappears in the confusion, leaving his finger behind to make people believe he's dead, and lets Sirius take all the blame, for Lily and James, the muggles and his death. It all makes sense."

"You've put a lot of thought into this haven't you, Dudley. But what makes you think Peter is still alive?"

"I don't _think_ he's alive, I _know_ he's alive. He's Ron's rat."

"Mr Weasley?"

"Umm, yeah. Ron's rat has been in their family for almost 10 years now. That's impossibly long for a common garden rat, Professor. Plus, it's also missing a toe."

"You believe Peter Pettigrew is an unlicensed Animagus, Dudley. May I ask why?" Dudley thought it odd that Dumbledore picked that particular fact out of his 'deduction'.

"Err, Peter Pettigrew's nickname was Wormtail, and rats have tails that…look like worms…"

"I see." Dumbledore stood up. "I must see to this at once."

Dudley almost fell off the dresser. "You-you believe me?"

The old wizard peered down at him through his half-moon spectacles, with glittering wit whimsical intelligence. "From what I have come to learn about you, Dudley, is that you know half more than you should, and an awful lot more of what you ought not to. If you believe this man to be alive and guilty, then it is because you have proof undeniable to yourself."

Dudley hesitated. "Sirius is Harry's godfather, so he would want Harry to go live with him…"

The light never left Dumbledore's eyes. "Perhaps, but would he _want_ to?"

"Yeah, of cour-" Then it struck Dudley on the nose, like stepping on a rake. _Would _Harry want to live with a man he had never met? Certainly he'd want to know him, but…but Sirius had offered Harry a way out of the Dursleys' house when Harry didn't think of them as family. He probably still didn't, but he cared for Dudley though, and he had listened to Petunia crying with concern.

"He would if I went with him," he answered slowly.

Dumbledore smiled brightly. "Then I see no conceivable reason why not."

"But the-" Dudley barely caught his tongue, as he was going to say the blood wards. He felt that he needn't have said it, though, as Dumbledore's face told him that he already knew what Dudley knew.

Even so, Dudley's mind jolted with the new information, as he could feel his two hemispheres processing it; he was related to Harry biologically through Petunia… he had played with the idea that that alone would be strong enough for the blood magic to work.

His studies in the Room of Requirement, however, had come up with a semi-negative. For whatever reason, magic in blood (or rather some magic involving blood) faded quickly, particularly through the generations…unless the right 'requirements' were met. However, if Dudley was right about what he thought Dumbledore was suggesting…maybe his love and his connection to Harry was an amplifier strong enough to sustain the protection. _Maybe._

Dudley left the words hanging, and reached into his pocket, pulling free the onyx arm bracelet and the box with the glass dome. He held them out to the Headmaster.

"Belong to anyone you know?"

The smile and twinkle left the old man's eyes, and were replaced with the seriousness that he had held at the front door. The change brought Dudley back to why they were standing in the Dursley house in the first place.

Dumbledore took the objects and turned them in his hand. "You were attacked, Dudley. You said muggles had died?" Dumbledore's eyes flicked from the blank onyx back to him. "The wizards?"

"Three, two men and a woman…that belonged to the leader. They're dead."

"All of them?" Dumbledore frowned, his eyes staring piercely into Dudley's own.

"Yes."

"Dudley, you must tell me, did you…?"

"All three of them, sir," Dudley's voice crocked, surprising himself.

"I see." Dumbledore sat back on the corner of the bed, objects still in hand. "Tell me everything."

Dudley paused, and then sat beside the headmaster. "Of course, Professor."


	26. A Twisted Kind of Truth

Hi guys and gals, sorry this chapter is so short I was in an accident and have been drugged up to the eyeballs for the last week and a half. Thanks Storyseeker for betaing this one. And thank you beautful people for reviewing :)

**A Twisted Kind Of Truth **

Dudley told Dumbledore everything as if explaining a play to a courtroom of doctors, with no nonsense and only facts. He didn't embellish or even lie. In fact, it was possibly the first time he'd ever spoken to Dumbledore without prejudice since he had met him, and he was almost regretful as he reached the end of his tale.

"He held me against the wall, I grabbed his wand hand, and the wand just…" Dudley paused dramatically, gesturing with his hand an explosive motion. "He was set alight, and he tried pulling off his robes to throw them somewhere, but by then I'd recovered enough that I had pulled off my belt and…strangled him with it."

Dumbledore's expression was unusually calm, but his eyes…perhaps it was Dudley's imagination, but in the flicker of a glance there was a type of horror that seemed to ebb in their crystal-blue depths. It was, Dudley thought, as if Dumbledore was listening to a horror story.

If not for himself, for the people in the shop (for some reason, he couldn't shake that old woman's stare), which had seared its self on the back of his eyelids, and the old woman's frightful little voice echoing in his ears. It was…disturbing. He decided he was in shock.

A_t least I didn't die this time. _

His lip wobbled, and for a spilt second he thought he was about to cry, but instead a roar of hysterical laughter burst forth. _I'm cracked,_ Dudley thought in a muddled panic, his body rocking and retching with manic crackled laughter, unbelievable pain stabbing into his damaged side with every uncontrollable contortion.

Dumbledore placed a heavy hand over his shoulder, the understanding look on the old man's face making him laugh even more. It was if his mind had left his body, like throwing up after drinking too much, it just kept coming no matter how much he pleaded for it to stop. And then it did, leaving sharp pain and insurmountable embarrassment in its wake. He would rather have sung Vanilla Ice's whole album in front of the great hall, filled with everyone he'd ever met, a thousand times, if only not to live though…that, in front of Albus Dumbledore.

"I-I'm so sorry, Pro-"

"No-no, that's quite alright." He patted Dudley on his shoulder and removed his hand. "I'm afraid that happens to even the very best of us. You have suffered much, Dudley. I do believe you've earned a little madness." Dumbledore smiled gravely, and in such a way that Dudley wanted to believe him.

"What happens now?" Dudley changed the conversation, cheeks red and his ribs aching.

Dumbledore waved his hand over the band and strange dome, which rested neatly on his lap beneath his purple robe. "I will have to speak to the Aurors, as it is paramount that you and your family are first made safe. I have complete trust that Madam Pomfrey is providing the very best care for your father, Dudley, but I fear a trip may be in order-"

"To St Mungo's?"

"Yes." Dumbledore picked up the band and the glass dome, and placed them into his robes. "I will make sure that you are protected in this whole affair."

"Will I be able to go back to Hogwarts? After…" He didn't want to say killing, as it didn't feel like what he thought killing would be. It was more like survival, like a reflex.

Dumbledore hesitated for a time that seemed unnatural… for him. "I very much wish I could say yes, Dudley. However, there is much before then and now, which must be fought for first."

"Will you fight for me?"

Dumbledore took in an air of consideration, and then almost joyfully gave his answer. "I believe that our fates may be entwined further still, Mr. Evans."

Dudley dropped his eyes to the floor exhaustedly. "Yes, Professor."

Dumbledore smiled, and with a wave of his wand unlocked the door, and held it open.

8

Downstairs was mayhem, as there were two Aurors in the house (that Dudley could see) and a few more he could see from a dense dust cloud emerging from the lounge. The Aurors, from what Dudley could tell, were not the ones that had arrived earlier in the street. There was something much more severe and official about them.

A tall black man stood facing the cloud of plaster dust, and was talking calmly into it. "Madam, that very well may be, but as of now this house is under Minst-"

The other man, who was very much lion-like in appearance, was surveying the room with his wand hand resting on his holster.

"Aha, Rufus. I suspected this case would arouse your interest."

"Dumbledore?" the lion-like man frowned deeply, his eyebrows knitting together at sight of the headmaster. "Miller wasn't seeing things then. What are you doing here? This is Auror business. An Auror is dead, and 11 others, three of which we suspect are wizards."

_That was quick,_ Dudley thought.

"I am aware, Rufus. Mr. Evans has kindly relayed for me the whole story. I will personally be aiding his case, and shall rely his statement as he receives treatment for his injuries. I am sure you must have a statement from his father."

Rufus almost snarled. "His father was out cold before we even arrived, thanks to your witch. The boy will have to give his statement again."

The headmaster held out his palms, and gave a friendly smile. "And he will, I assure you, but right now he needs care and bed rest."

"This is highly irregular, Dumbledore, and you are swimming dangerously close to the end of my patience."

"Nothing about this is regular," Dudley muttered, if only to remind himself that he was still there. Rufus flicked his eyes down at him, and Dudley looked up into his eyes, trying his best to sound small.

"Can I see my dad now?"

"The boy has been through a lot, a few more hours won't hurt your investigation. Trust me, there are…other issues, which need discussing. Shacklebolt, would you mind following me to what I believe to be the kitchen?"

The man talking to Petunia turned around. "Ah, yes, Dumbledore. I-"

"Shacklebolt!" Dudley exclaimed before he could hold it back. All eyes spun to him, as he mentally punched himself.

"Yes. You have heard of me?"

"No, I mean yes. Your, you're a- " _What, he's a what?_ Dudley, knowing he would need to say something, let his tongue jump. "You're a legend!"

"Ha!" Rufus snorted, while Shacklebolt grinned with bright white teeth that cheerfully contrasted to his dark skin.

"You are something of a legend yourself, Mr. Evans." And then, remembering why he was there, turned down his smile, although it sat there as he followed Dumbledore who had moved to the kitchen door (also smiling).

Rufus stepped after them deliberately, his eye glancing back to Dudley as he passed, and once more before he walked into the kitchen. An Auror, one Dudley had not seen, with a cauliflower ear, stared down at Dudley as he walked towards Petunia and the lounge, into the dust.

The dust cloud filled the room, and the wall where the fireplace had _once_ been, which Vernon had had built after the letters had blown in, was gone, in its place the ashes of a small green and blue fire nuzzled peacefully in the embers. All of _this_ had happened while he had been talking with Dumbledore.

As the dust settled Dudley noticed Vernon was not there. The Auror followed Dudley, waving way the particles of dry flaky brick dust and plaster with a pink light that hung on the end of his wand in a teardrop. Too petrified to speak Petunia took a steel grip of Dudley's arm the second she saw him. She was on a level of trauma beyond anything he'd seen from her, nothing more than a loud noise away from being pushed over the edge and taking on the dreaded 1000 yard stare.

"It's alright, mum. They're here to help."

"They burned him," she whispered franticly.

"What, oh no!" Dudley peeled off her hands, and dropped to a whisper. "It's how they travel. We have to go, too."

"No."

"Dad needs us, now more than ever. You won't let him down, will you?"

Petunia stared at him, rage held back by fear evident in the dull blueness of her bloodshot eyes. She squeezed his hands, and Dudley, not knowing what to say, squeezed back.

8

There was no excitement at St. Mungos. It was busy and old, and largely anything that caught his attention he felt rude looking at. In many ways, the wizards' hospital was not all that different from a muggle one, larger perhaps, but things like waiting times and a lack of staff shone through in a familiar, though, bizarre way. It was this familiarity that seemed to calm Petunia, as the curtains pulled around the large bed where Vernon lay asleep. The sounds from the rest of ward sounded very much like the background chatter in any other normal hospital. The only thing noticeably out of place was the Healer, in a sort of 'stylish 1950s nurse' robe, running her wand over Vernon's huge bruised figure.

Dudley was escorted by an old witch to an empty bed as petunia helped peal of Vernon's clothes.

"They tell me you heal fast?" she said, pulling out her wand and polishing it with the apron of her robe.

Dudley realised it was actually a question, and fumbled out an answer. "I…yes. It to do wit-"

"I's knows what it's to do with," she said, cracking her ancient knuckles in a style that Dudley had seen the older men in the boxing club do before a match. "I've seens it before lot'o times before, laddie."

"Have you?" Dudley looked at her spuriously. "When?

She looked at him through her stringy grey hair. "Used to be quites o'lot of yous types running around, causing us mischief before the wars. Poor souls, thinking theys immortal, always we be fix'em up."

The old woman gave a sad sigh, and before Dudley could draw breath for another question, she drove her wand into his side and twisted it upwards to his armpit and then down towards his hip. The feeling was white hot and excruciating, but his voice was paralysed with the overload of pain. He couldn't even draw his breath to yelp as his ribs cracked and moved back into position.

"Da've sealed with each other d'ay have, had tos break'em free. Sorry about the pain. Here's you goes, that's it."

Dudley snatched a neon yellow vial from her hands and swallowed it all in one gulp. The effect was instant, and the pain washed away in the feeling of a cold can of coke being rubbed against his skin on a hot day.

"Ahhhh," he moaned, biting into the arm of his dusty shirt, which was embedded with a smoky acrylic smell. A wave of dizziness took him, and the tiredness he'd been fighting finally wore him out. The old healer laid her hand on his bicep, and gently lay him down to bed.

"Shit" Dudley muttered to himself, as his head touched the pillow.

"-me" and in a blink he fell into fast and heavy asleep.


	27. The Human Zoo

**Hi everyone, I'm much better now :) for those who asked (and i didn't get back to) I was hit by a motorcycle that was driving on the pavement, nothing broken but bruised all over. **

**Thanks to Storyseeker for Betaing **

**The Human Zoo**

St Mungos cots were harder than those in the Hospital Wing, perhaps because the beds in the hospital wards got more attention. It was the first thing that emerged from the groggy mind of Dudley. That and a recall of the events, which led to his stay at the famous wizarding hospital.

He opened his eyes. It was still night, and by the sound of the ward, very late. He darted his eyes around in the bluish dim lights of the ward, looking for a window or clock. He noticed he wasn't in the clothes that he had been wearing when he had come in, but in some sort of nightgown. If he had the energy he would have shrugged at this transition of clothing, but instead his eyes found a clock through a crack in the curtains lining his bed. 3:28. Great.

Dudley stared at the clock, trying to force himself to sleep. It was completely silent on the ward except for the steady rhythmic breathing of the other patients, all lying in shadowy situates of blue behind their curtains. The ins and outs of air from the people around him pounded on his ears and pinched his brain, and then, unbidden, the old woman's face dipped on the edge of his mind, the bodies of the people in the shop circling and bobbing along on a wave of his half-made thoughts.

He blinked tears away, and pushed his face into the pillow of his cot, letting the wetness of his eyes soak into cotton. The old woman's empty eyes, the twisted angle of her head and that little terrified voice, which annoyingly he couldn't immediately remember, haunted his head and squeezed his heart.

The not remembering disturbed him more than the picture he could recall, he had to push and prod the wound until he could see everything. He was acutely aware, even in his ill state, that this probably wasn't the healthiest of things to do. It was a battle of the feelings; the ones living in his brain told him to go over the whole night again and again, making sure everything was catalogued and ready (for what, he didn't know), while the others formed a tenseness in his lower intestine, which said to simply…forget.

There was nothing gained in forgetting though. Dudley knew that he could maybe push the memory into the back of his head for a time, but he couldn't, or rather he told himself he wouldn't, forget it. In a weird guilty way he was made so alive from it, not the joyous type of alive he felt with magic, but the dull hurt of…living. It was a feeling that felt like it had been dropped somewhere on the road, somewhere along a trail of all that had happened since Hogwarts, the dull empty feeling of life. It wasn't happy or sad…it just was.

In that moment, the clock struck silently to four, and he decided he would remember it all. He would remember this feeling and wear it as a medal; this was his trophy for tonight. He was alive.

As if someone had cast a lifting spell on his brain, something heavy shifted, and at the same time, by some strange warping of gravity, he felt as his feet had, after a long time in flight, at last touched firm ground again. The hardness of the bed disappeared then, and once again he fell back into a deep dreamless sleep.

8

The next time Dudley opened his eyes, sunlight filtered in the ward from windows that had not been there the night before. And to Dudley's pleasant surprise, he had a visitor, and also undoubtedly the reason he had been woken.

"Harry." He didn't question why he was there, as he could guess that McGonagall or Dumbledore had told him that he and Uncle Vernon were in the hospital, and Harry had undoubtedly insisted on seeing them.

Harry smiled in a way that he did when he wasn't sure which smile would be appropriate and should be using. "Hermione thinks you've got an obsession with hospitals. You know, cos you're always in them."

"Does she?" Dudley sniffed and yawned, sitting himself up.

"Well, not in so many words." Harry sat forward on a small wooden stool and lowered his voice into a whisper, which was just as loud as his normal speaking voice. "They won't tell me what happened."

"Oh." Dudley looked around the ward. "You'd better close the curtains."

Harry nodded, bent down from his chair and pulled something out from under the bed, which was out of Dudley's view. He then placed a brown paper parcel on Dudley's lap without looking, and Dudley picked it up cautiously, as he stood up and pulled close the curtains around Dudley's cot.

As Harry sat down, Dudley turned the brown package in his hand. Whatever was inside was soft_. Another Weasley jumper?_ was his first thought, although he doubted even Mrs Weasley's ability to knit and send a jumper was this quick. Dudley had been wearing his jumper under his coat when he went to the shop, and thought about where it was now, which was probably with the rest of his clothes.

"That's from Dumbledore." Harry brushed the tendrils of his hair from his glasses. "He said the Aurors have taken your clothes for…evidence."

Dudley frowned, and neatly untied the string holding the package together. He then unfolded the paper and held the robe out in front of him by the shoulders. It was a two piece robe, with a long crisp white robe inside, stitched at the shoulders with a draping royal blue cloak, with a high collar that, instead of clapping at the neck, was cut to follow the collar bones, to make a V to the navel, closed in a circlet of tanned leather and two silver buttons on the left hip, and which then trailed to the floor in one piece.

"Well, you can tell Dumbledore picked it." He lied it down and folded it back into the parcel, and gave Harry a playful look. However, Harry was looking at him eagerly, waiting for him to tell him what happened. Dudley chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, questioning how much he should tell him. He decided on the short version, as the less that Harry knew, and further he was from being involved, the better.

"Dad was kidnapped." Harry's eyes widened until they filled the lenses of his glasses.

"By who?"

"We don't know exactly. Mercenaries, probably Malfoy's." Dudley shrugged. "When I went shopping, three wizards attacked and-" His voice croaked, and he hated himself for it. "And killed a lot of people. I fought back, they died, the end." He let out a sigh of relief.

Harry didn't move for a second, as he looked somewhere between confused and in disbelief. "Wizards in little winging? Murdered someone."

Dudley swallowed, as the images of the night whirled in his head with a broken mirror type of clarity. "Not someone, Harry, quite a few. Not-not anyone we know I don't think, but-but I didn't really get a good look at all of them. A lot- a lot of them were face down, you know, because they were running away."

Harry sat back on the stool. "Wow."

The world seemed to be a lot smaller again. Dudley focused on the bright blue of the robes and whispered the only thing he could think to say.

"Yeah."

"What happens now?"

"Huh? Oh, me and Ver-dad will have to give statements about what happens. Dumbledore said he's gonna help us."

"What's a statement?" Harry said, frowning.

Dudley raised an eyebrow and smiled to himself. It was easy to forget how young Harry was sometimes. "Our version of events."

He licked his lips, he still needed to tell Vernon not to mention killing Markus. He reached for the robes slowly, suppressing the urge to rush, it would cause Harry to become more curious, and he needed Harry off his back to pull this off.

"Harry, I think I'm going to see how Dad is doing. Will you be okay?"

"Yeah, I'll show you where he is" Harry jumped off the stool.

"Greeeat."

_Nuts. _Dudley thought.

8

Dudley followed Harry out of the ward in his new robes, and feeling quite extravagant in them. Several times he caught himself straightening his back and looking down his nose. He tried joking with Harry about it, but Harry seemed deep in thought as they walked through endless corridors. It all seemed much shorter the night before.

It wasn't until Harry stopped dead at an empty crossroads of hallways that Dudley realised he had no idea where he was going.

"We're lost, aren't we, Harry."

"No!" he said sharply, looking at the information board stuck to the wall.

"Do you mean yes?" Dudley smirked, pushing down his annoyance, and glanced at the board also.

"Uncle Vernon's there." Harry pointed on the map. "Spell Damage"

"We are here." Dudley traced the path in his mind, and placed his finger on the spot where they were standing. "At least we're on the right floor"

"Just the wrong side," Harry finished, and then looked pass Dudley and frowned.

Dudley followed his gaze, and saw a pale and befuddled looking man in a nightgown, who had stepped out into the corridor and was looking at them. He tilted his head, turned and walked back into the room he had just stepped out of.

"He looked familiar."

"Yeah," Dudley agreed. "Wait"

Harry had just started forward after the man, and Dudley trailed after him, his mind connecting the dots as to who the man was. He took Harry's arm, and stepped in front of him just outside the doors leading to the ward.

"Stop, Harry." Harry frowned at him and tilted his head, trying to see pass him.

"Why? Who is he?"

"I think," Dudley sighed, "he might be Neville's dad."

Harry stopped trying to look around him, and instead looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Err, well, Neville lives with his Gran, right?" Harry nodded, as they had all of course heard about Neville's Nan. "Didn't you ever wonder why?"

Something about Harry paused, and Dudley knew he hadn't thought about it. He naturally knew about Neville's family, but rarely reflected on it himself. A guilty look dripped into Harry's expression, and Dudley smiled sadly.

"They were attacked during the war, and tortured to insanity."

"They're alive then," Harry muttered. Dudley furrowed his brow deeply.

"No," he said very slowly. "Well, yes, but…they're not well. They don't talk I think, as their minds are…broken. They don't even know who Neville is most of the time."

"Oh," Harry said it in a way that suggested that he understood, but Dudley knew that deep down he didn't. He needed to see to understand, and Dudley stepped aside and nodded his head to the open door. Harry step forward and looked into the room. Not being able to help himself, Dudley looked as well.

The ward was more or less what Dudley expected it to be from the hospital and the books. Rows of beds, and people shuffling around in a daze, some standing and staring out the window, in the dull mindless way that one might stare at the television after all the good shows had finished, not really seeing, not really listening, just staring.

Suddenly a stout butch woman in purple garb rounded the corner of the door, wagging her finger. "What are you boys doing here? Out! Unless you are visiting someone."

"We-we was just going." Harry stepped back, bumping into Dudley. They both back-peddled until they were out of the woman's sight, before throwing each other looks of childish amusement.

8

It wasn't long before they found the place they were looking for. It was a plain ward, although it was quieter and more sombre than the other wards they had passed. The walls were a brick dust pink, and the floors an arid green, and each bed was revealed with the light purple curtains pulled all the way back, except one at the back right side of the room (Dudley barely held back from rolling his eyes, while Harry didn't).

They weren't the only visitors, though, which in a strange way was reassuring. The few visitors that lined the beds all wore bright cheerful robes and whispered to each other in hopeful little voices, in tones that parents might use for toddlers after they'd fallen down or scratched their knee.

The warm voices seemed to come with an eerily dread, as Dudley and Harry neared the curtains of Vernon's bed. Dudley put his arm out, stopping Harry with his palm.

"Could you give me a second with him?" He gave Harry the eyes that said 'this isn't a request' look.

"Oh, okay." Harry frowned and pressed his lips. "I've seen him already though. He's mostly fine…mostly."

Dudley raised an eyebrow but didn't respond, and then, without a second thought, he slipped through the curtains.

He realised that he had been expecting wires and monitors, but what he got was Vernon lying in bed asleep with his eyes half open, in a potion filled fog. Petunia was sitting on a sturdy oak chair, with what looked like a floral silk pattern sown in the cushions, holding his stubby fat hand with her long bony fingers and stroking the whiskers around the corners of his half-singed moustache.

Dudley found that he had forgotten how to speak. "How's he doing? Has-has he said anything?"

Petunia turned her pale blue eyes on him, and then at his robes in disgust.

"Yes," she said quickly, looking away.

"And…" Dudley rolled his hands. "He said?"

She let out a high-pitched and yet incredibly long and heavy sigh, which ended in a weak whimper. "He can't remember. The doctor, she said it was too much. That…he…blocked…it…out." She muttered through gritted teeth.

"Those things, those _fr-_" She whimpered again, with large tears in her eyes that she blotted out with a handkerchief. "_Freaks! _They hurt him _so_ much that he can't remember." She let out a wail that she stifled with the handkerchief.

"Oh, Dudley." She looked at him again and opened her arms wide.

Dudley awkwardly walked around the bed and into her hug, as he rested his head on her angular shoulder. "Just-just how much can't he remember?"

"From Christmas," She sobbed. "They even took his Christmas away. Vernon loves Christmas. What are we going to do, Diddums?" She squeezed him.

"From Christmas? He doesn't remember what happened at the shop?"

"Nothing, not a thing." She sobbed louder. "Oh Dudley. What if it's permanent? What if he forgets other things? What about his job? What about the neighbours?"

Dudley snaked his arms out of her grip, and hugged her back.

"Shh, shh. It'll be alright." He smiled and hugged her tightly, sighing in relief as over her shoulder he smirked. "Everything will work out. I'll help him remember, don't you worry. It'll all work out." Dudley looked at Vernon out of the corner of his eye. "I promise."

The curtains rail jingled, and Petunia tightened and shook. "Boy! _Out!"_

Dudley twisted in her embraced to see Harry's sullen face between the curtains. "I was only going to say that the He…doctor lady is here. Sorry."

"Out." Petunia grabbed bunches of Dudley's robes.

Harry strengthened his face and looked at him. "And Dumbledore's here."

"Right." Dudley nodded. "Tell him I'll…I'll see him in a second."

"He says we need to go now if we want to go to the Ministry."

Dudley walked out of Petunia's grasp. "The Ministry? What for?"

The curtains around the bed slid open on their own, and the gangly figure of the headmaster stepped forward. "For the enquiry. You are needed. Ah, you got the robes. Well done, Harry my boy."

He tapped Harry on the shoulder, who smiled. "Thanks, Professor."

"So soon?" Dudley narrowed his eyes.

"Let us just say that events of such a serious nature must be handled quickly and discretely." Dumbledore lifted his chin and took a long sweep of his beard, his eyes twinkling knowingly.

"Ah," Dudley nodded. _Serious nature, clever,_ he thought_._ "I understand. Is Harry coming-"

"With you?" Harry looked up hopefully at Dumbledore.

The headmaster placed a gentle hand on Harry's shoulder. "I dare say not this time, as such things are very sensitive, and I do believe exams are due soon, although I cannot say when." Dumbledore's eye twinkled brightly. "I would say time, fleeting as it is, would be better spent on studying Charms and Transfiguration."

Harry turned his head down and grumbled. Dudley smiled, a lingering ember of envy burning in his heart. How he wished he could see Flitwick again and do extra curricula charms (he could almost feel his wand in his hand). Dudley's eyes bulged in his head, luckily out of sight from Dumbledore's gaze, as his thumb had run over a bump in his hand over his middle finger.

_The ring!_ He glanced down at his hand, but the ring wasn't to be seen. Instead there was a small lump in his skin just after his first knuckle, the skin had healed over the ring.

"Dudley?"

"Yes?" Dudley shot up, and Dumbledore's eyebrow twitched.

"We must be going. Would like to say goodbye to Harry?"

"Oh, yeah." Dudley looked over to Harry and nodded. "Goodbye, Harry."

Harry smiled toothily back. "Goodbye Dudley."

He turned to the still shaking Petunia and hugged her again.

"Goodbye, mum."

Then Dudley paused, as he stood in front of Vernon, and gave him a light half-hug around his bulk.

"Thank you," he whispered.


	28. A Whimper

**Hi everyone :) not much to report this time. I'm feeling much better, all pain is pretty much gone, and i'm starting uni again next week this time for my masters should be fun. **

**Thanks Storyseeker for betaing **

**Consequence**

Dumbledore lead Dudley through the halls of St Mungos with the swift confidence of someone far too familiar with his surroundings. Dudley wondered, only briefly (as he trailed a step behind), if the old man was doing it on purpose. People smiled and waved at Dumbledore, as they walked passed. One man even tipped his hat, followed with a questioning glance at Dudley.

Dudley thought it wise not to say anything, or discuss the enquiry while in the earshots of passing strangers, so he kept his mouth shut, happy that Dumbledore did the same.

As they passed the reception, and a line of rather odd and in some cases gut turning patients, Dudley realised they were not heading for the fireplace from where he and Petunia had entered the night before, and were instead heading, for what Dudley assumed, was the mannequin exit.

This, however, was a brick wall, and they stood in line with teary strangers in mismatched muggle clothing, until they were nose to nose with it.

"Don't we need to change our robes if-" Even as Dudley was asking the question, Dumbledore's sidelong look, and a twitch in the corner of his mouth, answered it for him. Albus Dumbledore did not need to change his robes, if he didn't want to be seen by muggles - he wasn't.

On queue, the headmaster with one hand pulled his wand from his sleeve, and with a fanciful silent wave, placed it in his belt, and held out his other arm to Dudley. Dudley looked around, and then reluctantly took it.

"I'm not holding your hand the whole way."

"You needn't have to." Dumbledore chucked, and smoothly stepped through the wall.

8

London was a labyrinth.

Dudley couldn't help but think of the time he and Harry stole Vernon's car and used Hedwig as a GPS. Like then, the unfamiliarity of this world's London made him feel uneasy, more so now with knowledge of his former life. Some of the landmarks he had used from his world didn't exist here, and those that did were not the same, minute changes like the colours and materials of the statues and buildings made them appear odd looking and strange to him. It was akin to someone breaking into your house, and while you slept, rearranged all your furniture - even the stuff that you thought was nailed down.

He pushed the unease to one side when Dumbledore started walking down the bustling street.

They marched at a quick pace, and were completely unseen by the busy muggles around them. In all his trips to London, never had Dudley moved so smoothly through the city, as not once did someone step in front of them, stand in their way or push them aside. It was by far the most useful application of magic that Dudley had yet witnessed, and in a flicker it was over.

Dumbledore stepped into a dodgy looking back ally, with only a grim pub and some overhanging boxed over window, from what looked to be an office. Dudley spotted the red telephone box, which had been tagged in navy blue spray paint, with what could be the name 'AxIX', but even that had faded and crusted off with the red paint of the phone box. It wasn't very welcoming to say the least.

The creep of worry made its way over the hairs on the back of his neck. Dumbledore seemed to notice, and reassuringly placed his hand on Dudley's arm. For a second it looked as if the professor was about to say something, but instead he just smiled.

Dudley let out a shaky sigh and nodded.

8

Dudley stood in front of the gold fountain, scanning it with his eyes. It was as remarkable as the chest pieces had been, life-like in detail and expression. He could see in his mind's eye each of the magical creatures stepping off the podium and fighting for Dumbledore against Voldermort, and shuddered at the thought of it becoming a reality.

Sighing heavily, Dudley widened the scope of his vision and admired the rest of the Ministry. He surveyed the smart black and frumpy robed people that chattered amongst and across from each other, blinkered to everyone else around them in their own self-absorbed importance, and wondered at the flurry of memo airplanes whizzing airlessly overhead. He had been here before… Well, not here 'here'. It was a strange echo-y feeling, not far from déjà vu, even though the conversations, the clothes and the walls were different, the air was the same…the same as the muggle world. It was almost like…

"Washington!"

Dudley looked to see were his chaperon was out of earshot. Dumbledore was speaking to a friendly looking wizard.

Dudley fiddled with the silver visitor pin shining brightly on his blue robe, and looked up once again to the statue, the great weight of the world rolling back on to his shoulders. There were so many secrets and hidden motivations to keep track of, as he silently clapped his hands together below his belt, interlocking and then squeezing his fingers against each other, while feeling the ring under his skin.

The feeling of missing a simple life washed over him, and then he remembered that his life could never have been simple…not really. He had to have been at the heart of something earth changing in his old life, and that he had someone he loved there to, _Emily._

He closed his eyes, as her name drifted in his head. She loved him back, but she wasn't here…he hadn't even heard her voice in his head for months now. Harry was here though, he loved Harry (not in the same way, thank Merlin) and Harry loved him. That was enough, for now.

A rush of emotion took hold of him, as the shop flashed briefly behind his eyes. It was almost silly in a way, nearly funny, under the right kind of light that something so real could happen in a world of magic.

"All those people," he muttered, as the faces of the victims from the fuzzy green TV-cam enveloped the darkness behind his eyelids.

It made clear, in a mangled sort of way, why the experiments written in the briefcase, from the old Department of Magical Theory that Mr Crow had sent him for Christmas, were considered so shameful. He understood it a little bit better now…and why people wanted it to be shut down.

"All those people," he muttered again. Because they were people, even when some weren't humans, they were still people. He shuddered at the icy realisation.

"What people?" Dumbledore said, quiet and cheerful, making Dudley jump and open his eyes. He looked up to him with an unpleasant expression on face, but Dumbledore smiled through it, his kind eyes helping to draw it away.

"Is it… time?" Dudley locked his fingers and brushed the stray blonde hair from his face.

"Indeed it is. Wound you like a Knut?"

"You what? Oh." Dumbledore held in his hand a bronze Knut, and darted his eyes to the fountain. "Yeah, please. Can't hurt." Dudley took the Knut and dropped it into the fountain with a plop.

"Very good. This way then, if you would follow me."

"As always, Professor."

"Ah, Mr Evans, I and Hogwarts can only hope." The criss-crossed copper plated gates of the lift gave a shuddering thud, and closed with a solid ping.

The lift went back, two meters to the right, and then straight down, stopping several times to let witches and wizards on and off, each greeting Professor Dumbledore with an outstretched hand and jolly words.

"Must be tiring being so popular," Dudley quipped once an elderly wizard, in a soaking wet green robe, got off the lift and bowed until the doors clattered shut.

"Are you missing school, Dudley?"

The question surprised Dudley a little, but he quickly composed himself. "Ha! That death-trap?" he joked. "The only thing I miss is magic, and Harry and the others actually." He paused. "After all this is over…?"

"We will see," said Dumbledore, but said nothing more until they reach their destination on the 10th floor.

"Do they usually have inquires on this floor?"

"No, I requested it."

Dudley frowned. "Why?"

"I know that you blame yourself for what happened, Dudley, and that lives have been lost, in the long starch I believe. Although tragic in your actions, you have saved many more lives. Something I think you should be very proud of." Dumbledore said this while stepping forward into a narrow dark hallway, with Dudley striding after him.

He stopped suddenly by a door, a foot taller than he was, and opened it. "You can wait in here until _I_ come to get you. I won't be a moment."

Dudley looked dubiously at the empty room, and gave Dumbledore a hardened look. He found his manor strange, and juxtaposed with the nervous feeling growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Be quick," Dudley whispered, and stepped into the room, tightening his fists in the sleeves of his robe.

"I will do my best, I assure you." Dumbledore smiled and stroked his beard before lightly ushering him in with a wave of his hand. Dudley took a step back into the room. "Don't look so worried, Dudley. I won't be long."

Dumbledore then closed the door, leaving Dudley to stare at it in confusion. He ran a hand through his hair, not letting himself believe that he was worried, while reminding himself that it was only an inquiry, and that he was in the right (mostly). Even so, his hand trembled before reaching the back of his head. He scratched his ear to hide it, and quickly ran his story through his head: Vernon was kidnapped (no one knew he was kidnapped).

_They'll ask about that,_ Dudley realised, _they'd ask why no-one thought he was kidnapped,_ _and I'll say_ –_ I'll say the truth, Vernon-'dad' doesn't like magic, and I did magic –Damn, they'll ask why I did magic when I'm not supposed to…I'll say it was an accident, that's pretty much the truth. _Dudley had begun to pace, talking only with the frantic motions of his hand around his belly. _Then I was doing research, no, I was doing 'school' work, homework, and wanted a cup of tea, but there was no milk, so I went out to get some before the shops closed and, and then and-_

He stopped abruptly, as he had walked away from the door into a large, black domed atrium of some kind. He would have admired the strange way that square fractals had been used to create and decorate it, if not for a man smiling at him from within a black iron cage in the centre of the room.

"Err, hello?" Dudley asked, as he awkwardly took a step backwards.

"Hello," said the man in the cage, eyes gleaming from behind matted black hair.

Dudley stopped at the man's voice, as there was something in it, something non-threating – joyous about it. _Like the twins when they_ - Dudley narrowed his eyes and took two steps forward. "Sirius Black?"

The man grinned on the verge of madness. "And you are Dudley Evans?"

"Y-yes, I am. My god, Merlin, what have they done to you?" Candles were lit around the cage, and as Dudley moved closer the more he could see, or rather the more he could not see, as there didn't seem to be much of a man left. He was emaciated, or close to, if not for the knotted beard hiding the bony gauntness of his face, and the loose stained prison robe concealing, what Dudley imagined to be, only a skeleton in a suit of skin. Dudley was marvelled that he had the strength to stand, let alone the energy needed to smile.

"Not in my best condition, I know." Sirius shrugged off the question, and barked laugher lanced with a cackle that spelled insatiability. He stretched his arms out wide and grasped the iron pillars of his cage; his thin form shaking as he did.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore came to see me for the first time in eleven years. He said that a student had a theory about a dead man being alive and hiding in the skin of a rat. That was you." The cutting and blatantly bitter tone in Sirius's words fluttered the hairs on the back of Dudley's neck, summoning a red warning flag in his head.

"Yes, that was me." Dudley nodded and relaxed a little into the back of his heels. "I figured it out.

"I heard your name in Azkaban. That's where I was." In the dimness of the room, Sirius's eyes looked black and shark-like, making the smile suddenly seem tragic.

"I know." Dudley frowned. _Was this what he was like? He was unstable in the books, but was he like this…No, no he had time to recover, almost a year. This is what, maybe a day or a few hours? _Sirius was still talking, but Dudley had stopped listening. _Dumbledore wanted me to see this, why? It doesn't matter, I can't let Harry - _And then it made sense. He wanted him to-

"Eleven years and he-!"

"Shut up, I'm thinking!" Dudley turned away from the caged man. "Dumbledore said I'd saved lives, yours. He knows Harry would want to…no, Harry would stay with me, even if it meant living with… Oh." Dudley turned back to Sirius, who was now looking at him rather oddly.

"Harry," Sirius mumbled, his eyes lost.

"You're still Harry's legal guardian, and Dumbledore's afraid you'll take custardy of Harry in the state you are now." Dudley touched his brow, smoothing the end of his eyebrow with his thumb. "He thinks Harry would seek my council, and I'd say-"

"Harry," he mumbled again.

Dudley stared at him hard, x-raying him with his eyes and battling his heart with his head. "I'd say no. You're not ready, Sirius."

"You can't keep him from me!" The light seemed to have found itself back into his dark eyes. "You don't have that right!"

"I don't need it." Dudley stepped forward until he was almost in reaching dissent of the bars. "You need to sort yourself out. When you get out of here – you're going to need help. Owl Remus, or someone. Get help, get better...for Harry."

"You know Moony?"

Dudley could feel Sirius searching his face, and frowned deeper. "I know he needs help, too."

"_Dudley?" _

Dudley turned around at the voice, and found Dumbledore standing before him, his usual brightness drained by the poor lighting of the room. "It is time."

Dudley sighed, and denied himself one last look at the man in the cage, and strode past Dumbledore without a glance.

8

This new room, or rather arena, was remarkably similar to the room Sirius was in, except from the ground up it was built from triangular fractals, lit by bright blue candles that reflected off the black granite. It would have been beautiful if its construction weren't so obviously created to intimidate, which Dudley duly felt.

Dumbledore had lead him into the room with his hand on his shoulder, and seven people sat in official and prim-looking robes from the darker side of the colour spectrum. Dotted about on either side of the room sat six people, split, three each, to the sides of the room, and sat at slight angle so they all pointed towards a chair a little off centre from the room. However, their features were hidden by the low light and shadows casted from the large brims of their hats.

Even so, Dudley identified Rufus Scrimgeour in crimson sitting opposite to a woman dressed the same on a high set desk, which on the ground formed a sharp obelisk bench that reminded him of the front of a boat. Sat above the others on this bench, although he had to strain his neck to see, was a woman in a black coat and hat with a puff of pink fuzz peaking over her collar.

Dumbledore lead him to a large elevated wooden chair with a bright green cushion, set in the centre of the floor. It had to be elevated and off centre, Dudley surmised, because the bench the woman in black sat on was to disproportionate high to the rest of the room. The chair didn't have any shackles, or at least it didn't have any that he could see, and the cushion was comfortable and soft, none of which distracted Dudley from the prickly tense feeling he felt in his gut at the sight of the pink fluff escaping from the woman's collar. If this was she, if this was Umbridge, he might as well snap his wand now.

"Dudley Dursley?" The woman in black's voice was firm, and to Dudley's delight lacked the sweetness he would expect from Her. He was also taken aback by his full name. The woman leaned forward, her strong face illuminated from the candles floating on either side of the pointed obelisk. "You seem surprised. This is a Ministry, and the Suparinjunctjinx has no power in this courtroom. I must request that you state your full and real name."

"Urm, Dudley, hem, Dursley." He couldn't remember if Dudley had had a middle name or not, so he coughed and made a sound just in case. The woman looked at him oddly, and then seemed to move even closer.

"Because the witness in question is so young, it has been decided by counsel that formal cloaks will be removed, and the council will identify themselves formally to the witness." The woman then stood up, and removed her hand and cloak, revealing a pink-hedged mane on a blue robe, and a bonnet of dull grey hair.

"My name is Amelia Bones, but you may refer to me as Madam Bones. I am Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and will be over seeing this enquiry, Dudley. It will be I who decides whether the evidence you give and treatment you receive in this court of enquiry is both rigorous and satisfactory, under the clause of you being named as an Unreliable."

Dudley cocked his head. This was not at all as he had pictured it, not just Madam Bones, but everything. The people in the stands undressing, even if it was just their cloaks, was bizarre and a little bit…insulting.

"Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, seventh on the scene. I stand with Kingsley Shacklebolt." Dudley looked around on the left side of the court, where Shacklebolt was removing his byzantium cloak. He smiled and gave Dudley a little nod of acknowledgement, or perhaps some reassurance. "We investigated the area of the event in question."

As Scrimgeour sat down, the man next to him stood up and fumbled with a cloak, as he spoke, "Arthur Weasley, Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office."

Dudley's eyes widened. _Arthur Weasley, here?_ He eyed the shabby, stout red-haired man with intrigue, until the question rose again in his mind, with a slightly different angle, _why is Arthur Weasley, 'Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office', here?_

He smiled warmly at Dudley, almost knowingly. Perhaps Ron or the twins had spoken about him, or…Percy (Dudley shuddered to think what Percy might have put in a letter about him).

Mr. Weasley gestured to the other side of the stand, to the woman in crimson, now no longer in crimson but in a brown robe (which seem matched her mousey face). "I stand with Harriet Fimble."

"Dolores Umbridge."

Dudley's head snapped round so fast that the giant chair shook from its kinetic force, as a stoat thick-set woman dressed in a perking pink, out of place in the darkness of the room, spoke. _Shit! _Dudley thought. _Shit, shit, shit!_

"Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic. I stand with Deacon Crow."

Dudley's whipped back around to the other side of the courtroom. Sure enough, Mr. Crow pulled off his robe, revealing his bald head and bored arrogant expression.

"Oh, come on," Dudley whispered to himself, suppressing the desire to laugh.

"Dudley." Madam Bone sat in her chair, and gave Dudley what he assumed she thought was a friendly and reassuring smile.

"Yes?"

"I would like you, to the fullest of your abilities, to tell this enquiry your version of events of the incident that occurred yesterday evening." Madam Bones then sat up straighter. "I remind this enquiry that no questions or interruptions are to be made during Mr. Dursley's statement." Dudley caught Miss Bone's lightning glance at Umbridge, whose tiny smile never wavered. "I also remind the witness that cross examination shall be conducted by myself, Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Office, and his standing partner, Kingsley Shacklebolt. Agreed?"

"Agreed," both sides of the room said at once, in a droll and serious tone.

Dumbledore piped in. "Agreed."

Madam Bones stared back down to Dudley. "Please begin when you are ready, Mr. Dursley."

Dudley looked long ways at Dumbledore, and then began telling them the whole story. His mouth became a broken sewage pipe from the second that words began sipping from his lips, as his story rolled and gargled its way out of his throat with the ease of air through a fan. He focused on his wording, making sure each section of his story, from when Vernon went missing, to stealing the car and getting to the house, fitted perfectly together as pieces in a puzzle.

He ignored the looks of his audience, unable to hold his head high, as he explained and described the bodies of the people he had seen on the green haze of the CCTV monitors. At the end he was almost panting, as sweat trickled down from his face to his neck under the collar of his robe, as he distantly felt himself collapse into the chair, completely unaware he had even stood up.

Silence ricocheted around the room with the landing of his bottom to the chair. As he recovered his breath, Dudley spared a subtle scan of the room, drinking quickly and slyly the reactions of the room. Scrimgeour, Umbridge and Mr. Crow stood completely stoic, each in a slightly different and repressed position, with each of their relative expressions personified in their pose, with their faces saying or giving nothing away.

_Like the same doll in different clothes, _Dudley mused. _Arthur Weasley, Miss Harriet Fimble and Kingsley Shacklebolt on the other hand…_

Mr. Weasley looked to be on the verge of tears, as his face was pinkish-red, the same colour Ron became when he was upset. He looked very out of place between the two statue-persons beside him. Harriet Fimble was not fairing much better, and was blowing her nose into a handkerchief, sobbing to herself, as the tall standing Kingsley rested his hand on her shoulder. When he laid his eyes on him, Dudley felt both a feeling of being impressed and respect marred with a glimmer of what he thought might be…suspicion.

Dumbledore just gave a small smile, and nodded.

Madam Bones coughed loudly, and all eyes turned to her. She held none of the expressions of the crowd below her, as she held the look of a woman getting a job done. "Dudley, I will now open the floor for questioning. Are you ready?"

Dudley nodded with a sigh on his lips, as a rush of panic thrust into his intestine. "Yeah, I think so."

"Mr. Scrimgeour and Mr. Shacklebolt, proceed. The floor is open."

Dudley took a strong look at each man. _You can do this,_ he whispered in his head, taking hold of the arm of the large chair. He pictured himself and Harry doing magic together in front of the house, under the window, trying to make popcorn pop. The memory brought with it a simple calm to the rush. _You can do this._

"Mr Dursley," Scrimgeour began, his rumbling voice shaking the pit of Dudley's stomach. "You say your father was kidnapped, yet no one knew this?"

Dudley's eyes lit up, and he held his expression so as not to smile. It was as if Harry and Emily were in the room with him, each holding his hand.

_I can do this_.


End file.
